


Long Before We Both Thought The Same Thing

by allyasavedtheday



Series: A Long Way From The Playground [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (lots of it), (only a little bit), Alternate Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Prequel, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-01 21:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavedtheday/pseuds/allyasavedtheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So are you admitting you love Harry yet?”</p><p>Louis pauses in the middle of his story about the movie he and Harry went to see last night to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “What are you on about? Of course I love Harry.”</p><p>Has Zayn lost his mind? He’s been friends with Louis for nearly seven years and Harry for six, under what circumstances did it appear like they <i>didn’t</i> love each other? </p><p>“Okay, let me rephrase,” Zayn says, an amused little quirk to his mouth like he knows something Louis doesn’t. “Are you admitting you’re <i>in love</i> with Harry yet?” </p><p>Louis stares at him in bewilderment, mouth working as he tries to form a response. “I…<i>what?</i>”</p><p>*</p><p>Or, Louis maybe, sort of realises he's in love with his best friend of almost twenty years and he maybe, sort of thinks that said best friend could love him back? A prequel to If You Asked Me If You Love Him (I'd Lie).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Before We Both Thought The Same Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty!! so as it says in the summary, this is a prequel to my pretend not to be dating fic. you don't have to have read that to understand this story and vice versa but if you want to, you can press the handy little arrow next to the series title and it'll take you straight to that fic! the events in this fic take place about 11 months before those in IYAMIILM and for those of you who _haven't_ read it, I've bumped up Lottie's age a lil so she's a year younger than Harry in this 'verse
> 
> I need to say an incredible thank you to [Frankie](http://w-ldestdreams.tumblr.com/) for britpicking, as always. You're a gem <3 I also made a little [playlist](http://8tracks.com/allyyasavedtheday/a-long-way-from-the-playground) if you feel like a bit of mood music ;)
> 
> As always, this is a work of complete fiction and does not reflect real life etc etc. Title is from 18 by One Direction  
> (also a lil sidenote, Barnet's Registry Office does Not do drop in appointments but let's pretend they do okay ;))

When Louis is six he meets Harry.

It’s a Wednesday when he comes home from footie practice after Stan’s mum drops him off to find a pretty lady sitting at his kitchen table with his mum. His mum tells him her name is Anne and that she’s just moved into a house on the street around the corner. Louis shakes her hand because he’s _polite_ \- no matter what Stan says - and she laughs. She has a nice smile, he decides.

“Lou,” his mum says when he lets go of Anne’s hand to take his designated seat at the table. He’s allowed to sit with the grownups now; Lottie doesn’t because she’s just a _baby_. But Louis is six; he knows how to talk about grown up things - like shopping lists and the weather. “Anne’s little boy is in the play room with Lottie. How about you go say hello?”

“I know Harry would like some new friends,” Anne adds, offering Louis a kind smile. “He’s a bit nervous about moving to a new town.”

Louis nods decisively and climbs down from his chair, ready to go find this Harry person and inform him that they’re friends now but then his mum calls him back.

“Oh Lou, change first, would you?” she asks, wrinkling her nose. “Your footie uniform is all sweaty; throw it in the wash basket while you’re upstairs, love.”

“Yes, mum,” he huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically as he drags himself out of the room and begins tromping up the stairs with more theatrics than strictly necessary.

He ambles across the landing, hand gliding absentmindedly along the wall as he does, and he’s just about to turn into his bedroom when he’s hit with another body.

Louis stumbles back, arms pinwheeling as he reaches out for something to grab onto. His fingers catch in soft cotton and before he knows it, he’s landing on his back with a thump and the other body is falling on top of him, making Louis wheeze out a quiet, “oof.”

“Oops!”

He looks up at the sound of the squeal, eyes blinking rapidly until they settle on the source of the noise.

It’s a boy.

A boy with an unruly head of chocolate brown curls and wide green eyes and a tiny little mouth dropped open in an ‘o’ shape.

“Hi,” Louis answers brightly, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smile. “Are you Harry?”

Maybe-Harry nods before ducking his head shyly, cheeks turning pink. And Louis’ not sure why he’s embarrassed, all he did was ask his name.

“’m Louis,” he replies instead, making the boy look at him again.

“Hi Louis,” Harry murmurs quietly, keeping his eyes downcast as his cheeks remain rosy as ever. He’s still not getting up though…maybe he hurt his legs when he fell.

“Are your legs okay?” Louis asks suddenly, eyes going wide at the thought that he might’ve already broken Harry and he’s only just met him. His mum is going to be _so cross_.

Harry gets a little crinkle between his eyebrows and nods his head confusedly. “Yes?” he answers but he doesn’t sound very sure.

“It’s just- you haven’t gotten up yet,” Louis explains, his own cheeks feeling a little hot. His mum always tells him he’s prone to overreaction.

Harry’s eyes go wide and he scrambles off of Louis, nearly tripping all over again in his haste to stand up. “Sorry! ‘m sorry! I should’ve-“

“S’okay, Curly,” Louis shrugs, sitting up and directing a grin up at the boy fretting in front of him. “As long as you’re still in one piece.”

Harry goes still, small shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh. “I’m fine, thank you,” he mumbles. “’m sorry for bumpin’ into you.”

“That’s okay,” Louis assures as he pushes himself to stand up. “What were you doing in my room anyway?” he asks curiously, striding past Harry and through his open door. He sniffs his jersey as he goes, wrinkling his nose in disgust. His mum was right; his uniform’s starting to smell a bit now.

“I- I was looking for the bathroom,” Harry stutters, still stuck in his spot in the doorway. “I wasn’t being nosy, I promise!”

“It’s okay,” Louis says again, rifling through his drawers to find a clean t-shirt. He shucks off his jersey and drops it carelessly on the floor, pulling the new top over his head. It’s green, kind of like Harry’s eyes, he notices absently.

He changes his shorts quickly after that, kicking off his socks and gathering them in the pile with the rest of his dirty clothes to dump in the wash basket in his mum and dad’s room.

Harry stumbles after him as he makes his way across the landing, almost like he’s too afraid to be left alone in case he gets lost again.

“Oh,” Louis says suddenly. “The loo’s there,” he says, pointing his left foot at the door next to his mum’s since his hands are full. “That’s what you were looking for, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Harry answers quickly, darting into the bathroom without another word. Louis stares after him for a minute before shrugging and carrying on into his mum and dad’s room to drop his uniform in the hamper.

He decides to wait for Harry at the top of the stairs rather than just going back down to Lottie in the playroom – he knows it was the right decision when he sees the way Harry’s face light up as soon as he realises Louis’ still there.

“Your mum said you were worried about moving,” he prompts quietly as they make their way downstairs side by side.

Harry immediately looks down out at his feet, cheeks turning pink again. “Oh- um. Yeah. S’just a bit scary, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be scared anymore,” Louis says resolutely. “You have me now. I’ll protect you, Curly.”

Harry’s head snaps up in surprise and he misses the step below him, only managing to let out a startled gasp before Louis lunges for him, using the hand not wrapped around the bannister to catch onto his arm.

“Yeah?” Harry asks breathlessly once they’re both safely standing on the soft hallway carpet.

“Yeah,” Louis promises before giggling and reaching out to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Seems like you might need it.”

Harry huffs but his smile is wide as he follows Louis down the hall. It isn’t until hours later when Harry’s mum has convinced him he needs to go home and Louis has a quiet minute to himself that he thinks Harry might be someone really special.

*

And that’s it. They become inseparable. They spend every waking minute together and within a matter of weeks Louis can’t even remember what his life was like without Harry.

He makes sure no one ever bothers Harry at school and teaches him how to play footie. Harry always comes up with ways to make their games more fun and is more than happy to be the Wendy to Louis’ Peter Pan after Louis tells him none of the other boys will play along. They have their first sleepover and Harry gets upset during the night because he misses his mum so Louis cuddles him to help him fall back to sleep. When Louis is allowed to walk Harry home for his tea one evening he treats it like it’s the most important job in the world – because it is - and holds Harry’s hand the entire way – just in case.

And on a rainy Thursday evening where they sit on the sofa, staring morosely out the window since they can’t go outside, Harry turns to Louis with his serious face on and says, “You’re m’best friend, Lou **.”**

Louis pauses at how unexpected it is but he feels a grin burst out of him before he can stop himself and boops Harry’s little button nose with his index finger. “And you’re mine.”

“Yeah?” Harry whispers, eyes lit up with wonder. It’s the kind of look he gets on his face when they watch movies about faraway kingdoms and magical creatures. Louis loves that look.

“Of course,” he replies softly, his secret Harry smile slipping onto his face as he burrows into Harry’s side. “Always.”

*

Louis never thought a promise he makes when he’s six years old would be the only thing he knows how to hold onto some days but sometimes it’s the only thing that feels real.

They grow older and they grow closer. They’re there for the best parts of each other’s lives and they’re there for the worst. They wear matching suits when Harry’s mum marries Robin and Harry comes to every single one of Louis’ footie matches. Their mums enrol them in music classes together when Louis is ten and Harry is eight and they even convince their parents to go on holidays together a couple of times.

Harry holds him the night Mark leaves and doesn’t let go until the sun is filtering in through the window and Louis’ tears have dried. Louis holds Harry’s hand tightly in his on Harry’s first day of secondary school and promises him that nothing bad will happen as long as he’s around. When Harry is fifteen and he shakily tells Louis he likes boys Louis just pulls him into a hug and tells him he does too and it never feels scary after that.

There’s a moment though when Harry is sixteen and Louis is eighteen, a moment that’s been seared into Louis’ brain ever since. It’s the summer before he leaves for uni and Louis is lying on his bed overthinking everything – he’s not _doing enough_ , not seeing Harry enough before he leaves - when Harry bursts into his room in tears.

Louis doesn’t even manage to get a word out before Harry is barrelling into his arms and collapsing onto the bed. Louis shushes him, unsure of what else to do, and carefully rearranges them so Harry’s comfortably curled up against his side, his face buried in the crook of Louis’ neck.

“Haz,” he murmurs, running a soothing hand over Harry’s back. “Babe, what’s wrong?” When Harry only sobs harder Louis begins carding his fingers through his hair, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“H-he,” Harry hiccups, fingers scrunching up in the front of Louis’ hoodie as he squeezes his eyes shut. “He didn’t kiss me back,” he whispers miserably, another round of sobs overtaking him and Louis feels his eyes close in defeat.

Harry’d had a date tonight. Or- he said it was a date; to Louis, it sounded like some twat from the footie team just wanted to experiment but he didn’t dare tell Harry that. He’d been so excited; Louis couldn’t ruin it for him.

“I’m sorry, love,” he says gently, trying to keep most of the anger out of his voice as he pulls Harry closer. “He doesn’t deserve your first kiss anyway. He’s not worth it.”

Harry is silent for a moment and Louis holds in his sigh of relief when his shoulders stop shaking. Eventually Harry picks his head up off Louis’ shoulder, meeting his gaze with red-rimmed, watery eyes. “Will you do it?”

Louis feels himself freeze, hand going still on Harry’s back. “What?”

“Will you kiss me?” Harry asks tremulously, bottom lip already threatening to start wobbling again. “ _Please_ , Lou. I don’t want it to be anyone else. I want it to be someone I love and someone I trust.”

Louis’ heart is thumping heavily in his chest while his veins flood with adrenaline and he can’t tell if it’s out of fear of excitement. His mouth feels inexplicably dry and he doesn’t understand why the thought of kissing Harry is affecting him so much.

“I want it to be you,” Harry pleads quietly, another tear slipping down his cheek before he has a chance to catch it.

And there’s really only one answer to that, isn’t there?

“Okay,” Louis replies, voice thick with some kind of emotion he hasn’t quite pinpointed yet.

Carefully, he curves his hand around Harry’s jaw, reaching out his thumb to swipe away the tear track on his cheek, and he can _feel it_ when Harry’s breath hitches.

“Okay,” Louis says again, more to himself than Harry, as he begins to lean in.

It’s terrifying in a way kissing has never been before. Harry is so close, probably closer than he’s ever been and they’ve crossed a lot of boundaries in their friendship but this has never been one of them.

He pauses with his mouth an inch from Harry’s, lets their noses brush and his breath fan across Harry’s mouth. He gives him an out, waits for Harry to say he’s changed his mind but he never does.

So he closes the distance.

With more care than he’s ever thought to give any kiss before, he slides their mouths together with the gentlest pressure. The room is dead silent save for Harry’s shaky intake of breath and the furious beating of Louis’ heart drumming in his ears. Harry’s hand is still curled in the front of Louis’ hoodie and his curls are tickling Louis’ face and maybe it’s not romantic but it still feels like the most important moment in Louis’ life.

He pulls away slowly, watching the way Harry’s eyes flutter before they open properly. The tears from earlier make his eyes look even more green than usual and it’s the only thing Louis can focus on for a moment before he remembers how vulnerable Harry is right now. Louis needs to reassure him; Louis needs to _protect_ him. He promised he would.

Releasing a breath, he leans up and presses his lips firmly to Harry’s forehead, pulling him back into his arms with practised ease.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, burrowing into Louis’ chest like if he goes deep enough he can make a home for himself there.

It makes Louis shiver, feeling the words pressed against the fabric of his jumper, and he doesn’t know why. He just settles for finding Harry’s hand and lacing it with his own.

“Love you, Lou.”

Louis closes his eyes, curls a hand around the back of Harry’s head and nods. “Love you too.”

*

When Louis goes to uni to say it’s hard is an understatement. Yeah, he comes home for the holidays and he visits for a weekend here and there whenever he can but it’s not the same. Harry is miserable. He has his own friends so it’s not like Louis’ leaving him completely alone but he knows it’s different.

Harry tells him as much whenever they skype. Of course they care about their other friends, but they’ve been with each other almost their entire lives. They’re a package deal, the dream team; it’s not surprising they feel some separation anxiety.

Unsurprisingly, Louis starting uni is the catalyst for a triad of people questioning their relationship. Everyone Louis makes friends with immediately assumes Harry is his boyfriend based on the little tidbits of information – or essay long soliloquies – he provides about him. Almost no one believes him when he scoffs and says they’re just friends.

But it’s not only that, their _mums_ start asking questions too. And Louis can admit the distance makes them a bit clingier than before - whenever he’s home he can’t stand being apart from Harry, can’t stand not invading his space. And sure, they’ve always been like that but maybe it’s a bit more intense now. Still, he doesn’t expect his mum’s delighted, “So have you and Harry finally worked things out then?”

After assuring her they’re still just best mates, Louis tells Harry what she said and he confesses that Anne asked him the same thing. They laugh it off even if it does feel a little bizarre but they soon get used to people making assumptions. They don’t really care; Louis knows not everyone is as close as they are so people don’t always understand.

As long as it makes sense to them, that’s all that matters.

Louis’ second year of uni isn’t actually all that bad. He meets Zayn the day he moves into his new flat at the Student Village Housing and the two become fast friends – Zayn living across the hall ends up being a godsend, especially when Louis’ own flatmates are being insufferable. It’s not the same as with Harry – no could ever replace him – but it’s still nice to have someone to talk to. Louis spent most of his first year floating from friend group to friend group, without any really solid group of people to lean on so it feels good to have Zayn there. He also gets Harry’s seal of approval over skype so Louis thinks he’ll keep him around.

He surprises Harry by coming home for his eighteenth birthday and Harry bursts into tears before hugging him so tight Louis fears for his ribs. Harry doesn’t let go of his hand all night, dragging from friend to friend and introducing him like Louis’ never seen the people in Harry’s year before.

But Louis indulges him anyway, dances with him even when he looks ridiculous, makes him a proper cocktail like how one of his uni mates showed him, and holds him up when he starts getting a little too tipsy.

At the end of the night Harry is swaying on his feet and giggling into Louis’ neck as he heaves him up the stairs. He catches Gemma’s eye as he passes her on the landing and she only rolls her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation as she makes her way to the bathroom.

Louis tips Harry onto his bed with as much care as he possibly can – not like Harry makes it easy – but the minute he steps back Harry stretches his arms out to him. “Noo, Lou, don’t go please,” he whines, pouting pathetically.

“Just taking off your shoes, Curly, relax,” Louis soothes, huffing a laugh as he bends down to pull Harry’s boots off his feet. He stands back up with his hands on his hips, appraising his messy best friend sprawled across his bed. “Think you can take your jeans off yourself?”

“Probably not,” Harry giggles before letting out a hiccup and then giggling even more.

Louis sighs but goes to unbutton Harry’s trousers. “I feel like I’m defiling your virtue,” he mutters under his breath as he tries to shimmy the jeans down Harry’s hips.

Harry’s silent a moment before he mumbles, “I’d let you.”

Louis freezes with his hands framing Harry’s hips. He looks up slowly to find Harry staring at him with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip to hold back a smile, cheeks rosy from the alcohol and eyes positively twinkling.

“What?” Louis asks, dumbfounded.

Harry doesn’t say anything though, just breaks down into another fit of giggles, so Louis sighs again and resumes in helping him get his trousers off. (It’s not as weird as it sounds.) When he’s finished he stands up straight again, watching Harry squirm on top of his blankets. He’s frowning like he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him but eventually he finds Louis’ gaze again.

 _“Lou_ ,” Harry whines. “Please stay with me tonight. I miss you.”

Louis hesitates a moment, unsure if he should stay with Harry when he’s like this. But someone has to be here in case he throws up in the middle of the night, he reasons. So with more conviction than he feels, he kicks off his shoes, slips off his denim jacket and shimmies out of his jeans.

Harry makes a contented noise when Louis climbs in next to him, pulling the duvet out from underneath them both and covering them over.

“Come on, love, sleep time now,” Louis coaxes gently, easing Harry onto his side and curling up around him. Harry sighs happily as soon as they’re settled together and Louis feels himself relax in increments the longer they lie there.

“I miss you too, H,” he admits later, when Harry’s breathing has evened out and the room is still.

It’s probably the best night’s sleep Louis had since he was home for Christmas.

*

Nothing really feels better than the moment Harry calls him and tells him he’s been accepted into the University of West London aka _Louis’ university_ aka _they’ll be together again_.

(Louis might cry but no one can prove that except Zayn who stares at him with thinly veiled exasperation the entire time but still offers him a hug when Louis eventually hangs up the phone.)

It’s not even a question whether they’ll live together when Harry starts uni, they just do. Anne half-heartedly suggests Harry should live in the accommodation recommended for first years at least for the year but Harry is resolute. Louis probably isn’t much help either – too elated at the thought of having Harry back with him to really help the adults with the responsible advice.

Louis’ third year of uni and Harry’s first starts with just Harry, Louis and Zayn and their new flat. Within a week Harry has recruited Niall – some kind of chef prodigy that’s studying Culinary Arts with him. He’s blond and Irish and loud and carves out a place for himself in their friend group like he’s been there all along. With Niall comes Liam, his roommate who, while initially incredibly shy, is a veritable puppy with kind eyes and a kinder heart.

By October Louis feels more settled than he ever has since he started university. He has Harry by his side and a group of friends he actually cares about and can depend on.

And the next two years are filled with nothing but laughter and late nights and drinking and binge-watching tv shows together and taste-testing Harry and Niall’s dishes for class and the boys filling in when Louis has to do drama exercises and break ups and fuck ups and too many hugs and by the time Louis graduates he can honestly say university was some of the best years of his life.

Which leads him to where he is now.

Louis is twenty-five and teaching drama at a secondary school in Finchley. When Liam graduates Louis mentions to him that one of the PE teachers is retiring so now he has Liam every day to drive to work with and eat lunch with and make fun of other teachers behind their backs with. Zayn owns a bloody art gallery after he gets scouted at one of the shows he took part in in third year. And Niall and Harry have been working as sous chef and pastry chef respectively in the new restaurant that opened in town six months ago.

Harry and Louis have a flat and Liam and Niall have a flat – Zayn uses his spare bedroom as an art studio since none of them can really stand to be around paint fumes for that long. And honestly, as far as Louis is concerned, his life is pretty fucking great right now.

Or it was until Zayn ruined it.

“So are you admitting you love Harry yet?”

Louis pauses in the middle of his story about the movie he and Harry went to see last night to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “What are you on about? Of course I love Harry.”

Has Zayn lost his mind? He’s been friends with Louis for nearly seven years and Harry for six, under what circumstances did it appear like they _didn’t_ love each other?

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Zayn says, an amused little quirk to his mouth like he knows something Louis doesn’t. “Are you admitting you’re _in love_ with Harry yet?”

Louis stares at him in bewilderment, mouth working as he tries to form a response. “I… _what?_ ”

Zayn just gives him a deadpan look, like what he’s saying is obvious – like what he’s saying makes _sense_. “Lou, come on. I’m not an idiot.”

“I…genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis answers, mind working overdrive to come up with a reason why Zayn would even be bringing this up. Sure, sometimes people think Harry and Louis are dating when they first meet but Zayn knows _better_.

“Look, me and the lads have played along for years because we didn’t want to rush you but seriously, Lou. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Zayn, you’re not making any sense-“

“You just told me you and Harry went for dinner and a movie last night,” Zayn interrupts as if that’s supposed to _mean something_.

“Yeah and…?”

Zayn sighs, redoubling his focus and seemingly changing tactics. “When’s the last time you went on a date?”

Louis casts his mind back to his disastrous date with some bloke named Ryan. Why he ever thought letting _Liam_ set him up was a good idea, he’ll never know.

“Ryan something, you remember. The guy with the goatee,” Louis replies, pulling a face at the memory of that awful excuse for a beard on the bloke’s face.

“Louis.” Zayn looks so beyond exasperated, Louis would laugh if it wasn’t directed at him and he actually knew what the fuck was going on.

“What?”

“That date was last year.”

“It was _not_ ,” he immediately protests. “It was-“ He trails off as he wracks his brain to remember what month it was. He thought it was February…but actually maybe…no, there were no leaves on the trees. And actually, maybe it was November…Louis remembers Ryan making a comment about Christmas music coming on too early. (That had immediately been a strike against him.)

“Okay fine so it was last year, who cares?” Louis demands, crossing his arms petulantly.

“And when was Harry’s last date?” Zayn asks slowly like he’s talking to a five year old.

“I don’t know,” Louis grouses, feeling irrationally irritated and not really sure why. What’s Zayn’s _point?_ “What’s your point?”

“Well, did you ever think,” Zayn starts carefully. “Did you ever think maybe the reason neither of you has been in a relationship for a long time is because you might have feelings for each other?”

Louis laughs, he actually _laughs_ , because that is quite possibly the most absurd thing Zayn’s said all day and he’s been weirder than usual today. “No,” he chuckles. “I never thought that, Zayn.”

“Maybe you should,” Zayn says elusively and then he just _fucking leaves_. He announces he needs to get to the gallery, drops a twenty pound note on the table to pay for his lunch and breezes out of the restaurant.

What the fuck?

*

“Haz?” Louis calls as he lets himself into their flat. Harry has the evening shift tonight so he shouldn’t be gone yet. The distinct smell of baking coming from the kitchen proves as much. He slips off his shoes inside the door and carelessly discards his jacket on the armchair as he passes, seeking out the sweet smell of his dessert (dinner) tonight.

He finds Harry in the kitchen leaning over a mixing bowl, hair in a messy bun and joggers that Louis is pretty sure are his, with various baking equipment and ingredients spread out across every available work surface.

Louis steps up behind him, placing his hands on Harry’s hips and resting his chin on his shoulder. “What are we making?” he asks curiously.

Harry’s shoulders drop and Louis can feel the tense line of his back loosen. “Hi boo,” he greets softly, smile evident in his voice. “’m trying out a new recipe for one of the desserts at the restaurant.”

“Can I taste?” Louis asks, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Harry’s hips underneath his t-shirt. Harry squirms away but obligingly dips a finger in the cake batter and raises it up to Louis’ mouth.

Louis pushes his chin that little bit further over Harry’s shoulder and sucks his finger into his mouth. “Mm,” he makes an approving noise as he releases Harry’s finger, patting his hip once before moving away to find a clean mug to make tea. “S’good, babe.”

“Thanks,” Harry replies, blowing out a breath and leaning against the counter, idly watching Louis move around the kitchen as he drops a teabag in his cup and sets the kettle to boil.

“Want one?” Louis asks, making to grab Harry’s mug from the cupboard but Harry shakes his head.

“I’m good, Lou, thanks. I need to finish this.”

“Well don’t stress yourself out _too_ much,” Louis prods gently, crossing back over to Harry to rub his shoulders. “Your back is gonna be killing you tonight if you don’t relax, love.”

“I know,” Harry sighs. “It’s just- I’ve been working on it all week and I still can’t get it right. Something’s missing.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he says with certainty, reluctantly pulling himself away from Harry when the kettle boils.

“Mm,” Harry hums vaguely, eyes trained on the mixing bowl before he seems to shake himself. “Did you have a nice lunch with Zayn?”

Louis pauses, suddenly remembering exactly how their lunch ended. He considers telling Harry for a moment so they can laugh about how preposterous Zayn was being together but something holds him back. “Yeah, it was great,” he says evasively. “Nothing too exciting to report.”

“Okay well you know I’m working ‘til close tonight, yeah?” Harry reminds, taking the mixing bowl and pouring the batter into a waiting cake tin. “So don’t wait up.”

“I’m not your mother, Harold,” Louis scoffs, taking a sip of his tea and wrinkling his nose when it’s still too hot. “When do I ever wait up for you?”

“Always,” Harry rolls his eyes exasperatedly, grinning like Louis is the most ridiculous person in the world as he deposits the tray in the oven. “And you have to be up early for work tomorrow, last day of school remember?”

“How could I forget?” Louis sighs dreamily; almost _two whole months_ off. He feels at peace just thinking about it.

Harry just watches him amusedly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s the only person that views Louis’ antics with fondness rather than long-suffering weariness.

“Fine, I won’t wait up for you,” Louis acquiesces, pouting only a little. He likes their late night chats the best. “I hope you’re going to be cleaning up in here, Harold?” he adds, surveying the mess that is their kitchen. There’s even a spot of flour on Harry’s nose. Louis swipes it away as he passes, ready to relax in front of the telly for a while before he has to start marking his third years’ exams.

“As long as you hang up your jacket!” Harry calls after him and Louis freezes in the doorway.

“How do you know I haven’t already hung it up?” Louis asks slowly, avoiding Harry’s eyes. His eyes always give him away.

“Because I know you,” Harry snorts derisively.

“Fine,” Louis sighs in defeat, slumping into the living room to hang his jacket on the coat rack by the front door.

“Love you, Lou!” Harry calls from the kitchen with a bright laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.”

*

Harry stumbles into Louis’ room sometime around midnight later that night, crawling under the covers with a mumbled, “My bed’s too cold.”

Louis just nods sleepily, not even deigning to open his eyes, and wraps himself around Harry’s back once he’s settled. “Night, Hazza,” he snuffles into the nape of Harry’s neck, pulling the covers up over them both.

“Night, boo,” Harry whispers, laying his arm over Louis’ and releasing a slow breath.

Louis falls back to sleep in seconds.

*

As soon as the final bell rings the next day, Louis is out the door – quite possibly faster than the students. He has a cardboard box full of exams and his own notes from his classes’ monologues that he needs to correct over the next few days but other than that, he’s _free_. By the time he makes it to the carpark Liam is already leaning against the hood of his car waiting for him.

“Celebratory dinner?” he asks expectantly, taking the box off Louis so he doesn’t have to fumble with his key to get the door open.

“You know it, Payno,” Louis agrees, dumping the box in the back before climbing into the driver seat. “Celebratory _drinks_.”

Liam laughs, eyes glinting at the thought. “I’m guessing we’re making a pit stop back at yours then? Something tells me you won’t be in a fit state to drive later.”

Louis scoffs but nods his head, eyes scanning the carpark as he carefully pulls out of his spot. “I can’t fucking wait for a lie-in tomorrow.”

“And the day after that,” Liam agrees blissfully.

“And the day after that,” Louis continues, holding back a grin.

The drive back to Louis’ flat is thankfully a short one and he wastes no time racing up to the third floor to unload the box of exams in his bedroom before darting down to the complex’s carpark where Liam’s waiting.

“Shall we?” he asks Liam, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“We shall,” Liam grins, leading the way as they start down the street. Rosso’s – the restaurant Harry and Niall work at – is only a fifteen minute walk away so they make their way towards it without much of a fuss.

It’s only 4:30 and it’s blessedly warm; Louis spends most of the walk admiring the clear sky and listening to Liam talk about the exam he was supervising this morning.

The restaurant’s not too busy when they arrive, in that in-between time between lunch and dinner that actually gives the wait staff a reprieve. The head waitress, Perrie, grins when she spots them, practically skipping over to greet them.

“Table for two, boys?” she guesses, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly before laughing and leaning in to give them both a kiss on the cheek.

“Please, love,” Louis answers as she grabs two menus and leads them over to an empty table in the centre of the room.

“So what’s with the twin smirks? What’s got the two of you in such a good mood?” she asks curiously as she dutifully begins filling their water glasses.

“Last day of school, Pez,” Liam explains, lips tilting up involuntary at the words. God they really shouldn’t be this happy to get a holiday.

“Ah,” she says with dawning understanding. “So I’m guessing a celebration is underway?”

“You’d be guessing correctly,” Louis replies, idly browsing the menu even though there’s not much point – he gets the same thing every time.

Perrie laughs, slipping her notepad out of the pocket of her apron. “Drinks then?”

“Oh I’m definitely starting with a cocktail,” Louis says, immediately swapping the normal menu for the drinks menu. “I’m thinking a Sex on the Beach?”

“When are you not thinking of sex on the beach?” Liam mutters and Louis kicks him – _hard_. “I’ll have a beer, Perrie, thanks. Whatever’s on tap is fine.”

“Coming right up!” Perrie assures, glancing between them and biting her lip to hold back her laugh.

As soon as her back is turned Louis rolls his eyes at Liam. “Honestly Payno, have you no manners?”

“Am I wrong?” Liam challenges, waggling his eyebrows.

Louis is about to quip that he hasn’t had a one night stand in ages but that sounds dangerously close to the territory he was in with Zayn yesterday so he bites his tongue.

Thankfully, Liam unassumingly changes the topic to what he’s getting for dinner. Unlike the rest of the boys, who have their favourite dishes and pick the same every time, Liam generally likes to pretend he’ll actually try something new for once before ultimately picking the same thing as always.

Perrie arrives back over a few minutes later with their drinks and takes their order – Liam asks for his usual just like Louis knew he would.

“To the summer!” Liam announces, raising his drink.

“May it actually be bloody hot for once!” Louis adds with a snort, clinking his glass delicately against Liam’s and taking a sip. He feels all the built up tension from the school year instantly drain out of him as soon as the fruity flavours fill his senses.

They chat aimlessly while they wait for their food, rambling from one topic to another until their meals arrive and talking stops altogether in favour of more important matters.

Niall saunters out at some point during their main course, pulling up a chair and dragging his chef’s hat off his head.

“Don’t you have work, Nialler?” Louis asks, spearing another piece of chicken with his fork.

“Taking a break,” he shrugs. “Wanted to say congrats on making it through the school year, lads!” he exclaims enthusiastically, clapping Liam on the back and making him almost choke on his lasagne.

“Harry wanted to come out and say hi,” he adds, directing it mostly to Louis. “But he’s a little swamped back there. He’ll come out if he can.”

Louis nods, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “S’fine, I don’t want to disturb him anyway.”

“Such a good husband,” Niall coos, letting out an unaffected cackle when Louis punches his arm.

It’s- Niall makes jokes like that all the time. He always compares Harry and Louis to an old married couple and Harry and Louis always share a look and laugh about it but the thought sits uncomfortably in Louis’ stomach now. Sure, he and Harry are affectionate, they all know that, but maybe there’s more intent behind Niall’s teasing than Louis had originally assumed…

Niall’s loud laugh breaks him out of his reverie and Louis blinks to see him standing up from his chair, announcing he needs to get back to the kitchen.

As soon as Niall’s disappeared he takes a long gulp of his cocktail, slamming the glass back down on the table with a huff. When Liam raises his eyebrow in question Louis clears his throat. “Keep up, Liam,” he says primly before staring steadfastly at his food.

Liam doesn’t say anything, just takes a swig of his beer and returns to his own food.

God, what the fuck is wrong with him? He’s going to _kill_ Zayn; he’s making Louis feel all twitchy and unsure of himself. He can feel himself revising his interactions with Harry, picking them over to try and see what Zayn – and evidently Niall – can see.

He decides he’s not going to think about it right now. Instead, he orders another cocktail with dessert while Liam texts Zayn and tells him to meet them at the restaurant. The evening crowd is starting to bustle in now and Louis can already see the easiness with which the staff had been working the room dissipate as they start picking up the pace, extra waiters appearing every time Louis looks up. There’s no way Harry or Niall will get a break for at least another couple of hours.

Louis and Liam relax into comfortable conversation while they wait for Zayn to arrive, talking about their various plans for their time off. Louis is just starting to get antsy, looking around for Perrie with the dessert – he needs his cheesecake, okay? No one makes cheesecake like Harry – when another one of the waiters arrives over, setting a cake down in front of Louis. He’s just about to tell him that’s not what he ordered when he actually looks at the cake.

It’s unmistakeably Harry’s work – a small, round cake covered with white icing and with _“Happy holiday, Lou! (And Liam)”_ written in chocolate sauce but might as well have been done with a fountain pen for how perfectly the words swirl across the cake.

“Did Harry do this?” he asks the waiter in awe, already knowing the answer.

The waiter nods, biting back a smile. “Red velvet sponge with vanilla buttercream icing, said it’s your favourite?”

“It is,” Louis murmurs, staring down at the cake for a minute before looking back up at the waiter. “Tell him thank you? And that I love it?”

The bloke nods again, assuring him with a, “Will do,” before retreating to the kitchen.

Louis settles his gaze back on the cake and smiles to himself; he has a sneaking suspicion this is what Harry was working on yesterday when Louis came home – though he never did make the icing, he’d been running late for work. It takes him a minute to realise Liam is staring at him but when Louis looks up he finds him watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Where’s my cake then?” Liam asks eventually, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“It’s for both of us,” Louis answers automatically. “See, it has both our names.”

“Mine is in brackets, Tommo,” Liam laughs. “S’like Niall reminded him or something.”

“Harry wouldn’t forget you,” Louis protests, frown appearing involuntarily. He probably gets more defensive about Harry than Harry himself does. “It’s for both of us.”

“It’s for _you_ ,” Liam corrects but his smile is genuine. “And that’s okay.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth does an ice-cream sundae that Liam always wants to order but never does arrives at the table. “Now _this_ is mine,” he says happily, taking a massive spoonful and leaving Louis alone with his cake.

Fuck, Harry really is the best. Like, the best of the best. Louis doesn’t deserve him.

He sets about eating the cake but not before taking pictures from every angle and texting them to his mum and Anne. It’s delicious - obviously, everything Harry makes is delicious - and Louis spends more time than he’d care to admit worshipping every single bite.

Liam – and Zayn who shows up about halfway through dessert – watch him amusedly but he can’t even find in it himself to care. The cocktails are just starting to hit him, he’s on break from work and he has the best friend in the entire world. He’s going to have his fucking cake and eat it too, thank you very much.

It’s the whole cake and another drink later when he’s making his way to the bathroom. He’s just about to push through the door when someone opens it from the inside, walking straight into him.

Of course that someone is Harry, the only grown adult Louis knows without spatial awareness.

“Lou!” he exclaims in surprise, eyes widening and hands reaching out instinctively to catch Louis’ elbows in case he stumbles.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just pushes himself into Harry’s arms and pulls him into a tight hug. Harry hugs back without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and dropping his chin onto Louis’ shoulder.

“Thank you for the cake,” he mumbles against Harry’s neck. “It was amazing.”

He can’t see Harry’s face but he can feel his smile. He’s beaming, Louis knows it.

“You’re welcome,” Harry says warmly. “I hoped you would.”

He releases Harry with a kiss on the cheek, smiling affectionately up at him. “How much longer ‘til you finish?”

Harry glances at the door to the kitchen over Louis’ shoulder and checks his watch. “I’m finished at nine tonight, so another two hours?”

Louis sighs in defeat – that’s too far away - but nods. “Guess I’ll just have to drink _for_ you then.”

Harry scoffs, cuffing a hand under Louis’ chin. “I’m not carrying you home tonight, at least _try_ to pace yourself?”

“Fine,” Louis mutters, biting back a smile. It’s pointless, as soon as he meets Harry’s gaze again he’s grinning.

“I better get back to it,” Harry says after a moment, taking a half-hearted step towards the kitchen.

“Fine,” Louis repeats, sounding a lot more forlorn than he had a moment ago. “Hey Styles.”

Harry stops just as he’s about to enter the kitchen. He doesn’t turn around but he cranes his head just slightly, just enough so Louis knows he’s listening.

“Walk me home later?”

A smile spreads across Harry’s face as he nods. “It’s a date.”

*

By the time Harry is finished his shift Louis is more than a little tipsy. At least he’s not alone – Liam has been giggling steadily for over an hour and Zayn, while quieter, seems equally as buzzed – when he decided to catch up, he caught up quick.

Harry shows up at their table with Niall in tow, raising an eyebrow at the half-empty pitcher of strawberry daiquiris Louis ordered for the table twenty minutes ago. “Eventful night?” he asks amusedly.

“Hazza!” Louis exclaims once he realises Harry is there, attempting to jump out of his seat to hug him but ultimately tripping over the chair leg. Harry’s hands come up to steady him and Louis is fairly certain he shares a look with Niall over his head.

“Think you can wrangle those two into a cab while I get this one home?” he asks Niall. (Louis assumes.)

“No- noo Haz, we still need to pay,” Louis mumbles, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. He’s probably getting a little too old to day drink.

“I’ve covered your tab, Lou,” Harry placates, placing a soothing hand on the back of Louis’ head where it’s still resting against Harry’s chest.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis protests weakly, voice definitely sounding a bit fuzzy around the edges now, even to his own ears.

“Like you could remember your pin number for your card right now,” Harry snorts, shifting so Louis’ nestled under his arm. “Come on, home time.”

Liam and Zayn stumble out of their seats, each latching onto one of Niall’s awaiting arms. They seem steady enough on their feet though since Niall doesn’t go crashing to the ground as soon as he makes them walk.

Harry guides Louis carefully out the door behind them, waving quiet goodbyes to some of the waiters with his free hand. All Louis has the energy to do is rest his head against Harry’s shoulder and keep his fingers clutched in the back of Harry’s jacket to keep him grounded.

The warm breeze from earlier is long gone when they arrive outside and Louis instinctively shivers at the chill in the air. Harry merely tightens his arm around him and sets them in the direction of the flat.

It’s only just gone nine so the July sun is just beginning to set, the sky a riot of oranges and pinks. Most people that pass them seem to be on their way out rather than on their way home – that’s what Louis gets for starting early.

“Did you have a nice time tonight?” Harry asks after they’ve been walking in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Mm,” Louis hums, eyes drifting shut for a moment. He trusts Harry to keep him steady – not that Harry can keep _himself_ steady on a good day.

“So how bad of a hangover am I gonna have to deal with in the morning?” Harry asks then and Louis’ head might be a little dizzy but he can still hear the shit-eating grin in his best mate’s voice.

“ _You_ won’t have to deal with anything,” he grouses. “I’m gonna be the one suffering for this.”

“Excuse me, I’ll be dealing with a cranky Louis,” Harry laughs. “That’s much worse than any hangover.”

Without a word Louis slips out from under his arm, intent on a dramatic storm off to make Harry sweat for a minute but evidently his legs aren’t quite as sturdy as he’d thought they were. Walking so quickly gives him a head rush and he almost loses his footing before Harry’s secure arms are around him again.

“No running off, boo,” Harry reprimands gently, starting them walking at a much slower pace. “I’m just teasing.”

Louis heaves a put-upon sigh and lets his head drop back onto Harry’s shoulder again. “You know now you have to make me breakfast in the morning for being mean to me.”

“Oh is that right?” Harry asks sceptically, an amused little lilt in his voice.

“Mhm, s’the rules,” Louis mutters, biting back a grin when he feels Harry laugh.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Harry promises and for a fleeting moment, Louis feels the soft pressure of Harry’s lips against his hair but just as quickly it’s gone. It makes his spine feel tingly and Louis finds himself frowning; Harry kissing him never made him have that reaction before. Must be the alcohol.

“Wish you’d gotten drunk _with_ me,” he complains. “’Stead of carrying my sorry arse home.”

“Don’t talk about your arse that way,” Harry quips immediately, directing a smirk Louis’ way when he looks at him. “Besides, I don’t mind. I actually _like_ taking care of you, you know.”

Louis wants to question him, just because. Because he still can’t really fathom just how much Harry would do for him if he asked and vice versa; it scares him when he thinks about how much they care about each other. But that’s a conversation for another night so he just burrows closer into Harry’s side and murmurs, “I like taking care of you too.”

They spend the rest of the walk home in silence.

*

Louis gets the phone call the next morning.

It’s early – too fucking early for his poor, pounding head to be subjected to such loud noise – but he somehow manages to blearily paw his bedside table and find his phone to at least make the noise stop.

“What?” he asks groggily, eyes not fully open yet as he vaguely wonders if Harry’s making him breakfast.

 _“I’m getting married!”_ is screeched down the line at him, loud enough that Louis has to pull the phone away from his ear.

“What?” he asks again, voice weak and pathetically close to a whimper. Why is Lottie so _loud?_

“I’m getting married, Lou!!” Lottie exclaims. “Dave proposed last night.”

And- oh shit. _Oh shit._

“He did?” he asks incredulously, voice scratchy and hoarse. He almost wants to cry in relief when he sees Harry’s left a glass of water on the nightstand, two paracetamol sitting on a napkin next to it.

He gulps them down gratefully, almost laughing at Lottie’s exasperated tone on the end of the line.

“ _Yes_ , jesus christ Lou, keep up!”

“Sorry Lotts, feeling a bit delicate this morning,” he chuckles half-heartedly. “I’m so happy for you though, that’s amazing. Mum must’ve bawled her eyes out when you told her.”

“She’s still crying,” Lottie informs him conspiratorially before sighing dramatically. “Go on, then. I’ll let you nurse your hangover but I’m calling you back later to have a proper chat.”

“You can call Harry if you want,” he suggests, flopping back down against the pillows and closing his eyes. “I’m sure he’s up.”

“Oh my god do you think he’ll cry?” Lottie asks, sounding far too gleeful at the thought.

“Dunno,” Louis snorts. “Probably. Congrats again, Lotts. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, love you, Lou.”

Louis hangs up after a, “Love you too,” and drops his phone somewhere on the bed.

He doesn’t remember falling back to sleep but when he wakes up again it’s to the distinct smell of bacon and Harry climbing into his bed.

Louis cracks an eye open and finds Harry straddling his thighs over the covers, carrying a tray holding a full English breakfast and two cups of tea. That’s not what catches Louis’ attention though; Harry’s eyes are red and glistening like he’s holding back tears.

“I made you breakfast,” Harry announces, voice cracking and choked.

“Love, what’s wrong?” Louis asks, leaning up on his elbows, frown etched into his forehead.

“Lottie’s getting married, Lou,” Harry whispers, voice filled with so much wonder you’d swear _he_ was the one that was just proposed to.

“I know,” Louis whispers back, a smile slipping onto his face before he can help it.

“She’s all grown up,” Harry replies shakily and god, how is he even real?

“Aww love,” Louis chuckles quietly, sitting up properly and taking the tray out of Harry’s hands. He’s barely set it to the side when Harry’s thrown his arms around his neck, crushing him to his chest.

“I’m so happy for her,” Harry laughs, voice sounding too thick and dangerously close to a sob.

“Me too.” Louis hugs him back tightly, Harry a comforting weight in his arms. Lottie is getting married – _married_ – she’s so young, only a year younger than Harry and already, she’s found her person, her _soulmate_.

“She’s making me feel over the hill though,” he mumbles a moment later, huffing a self-deprecating laugh. “I need to catch up.”

Harry pulls back, eyeing him with a frown. “Shut up, you know someone’s gonna fall head over heels in love with you one day and propose on the spot.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis asks doubtfully, holding back a smirk at the determined set to Harry’s expression.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry insists, poking him firmly in the chest. “And then I’m going to cry because you’ll love them more than me.”

Louis rolls his eyes, digging his fingers into Harry’s sides to make him arch away. “Not possible, Curly. Now stop fishing for compliments and get off; my breakfast’s getting cold.”

“You mean the one I cooked for you?” Harry reminds pointedly, carefully balancing the tray in his hand while he crawls into the empty space next to Louis.

“I love you?” Louis tries, watching Harry fold like a bloody house of cards as his entire expression softens and he offers a cup of tea.

“Stop sweet talking me,” he grumbles but he still rests the tray on both of their laps so Louis can reach it.

“Thanks for my hangover cure, Haz,” Louis says after he’s taken the first blessed bite of bacon. “You’re the best.”

Harry doesn’t say anything but the pleased look is plain as day on his face, he’s practically preening.

They spend the rest of the day in Louis’ bed watching some countdown about nineties’ boybands.

Typical Tuesday.

*

The rest of Louis’ first week off passes fairly uneventfully. He spends most of it correcting his classes’ exams so he can submit their grades before he goes into full-on holiday mode and completely switches off.

Harry’s working afternoon/evening shifts all week so he’s not even around to distract Louis. Mostly he just plays Fifa with Liam in between doing his work and then goes to bother Zayn at the studio whenever Liam is busy.

By the time Harry’s next day off rolls around on Sunday Louis is officially bored. He’s ready to drag Harry out of bed and out of the flat to do _something_ except when he creeps into Harry’s room after eleven – much later than Harry ever sleeps – he finds him buried under a mound of blankets.

“Haz?” he calls quietly. Upon receiving no answer, he tiptoes further into the room, letting the door drift shut behind him. “Harry?”

Harry makes a vague, unintelligible noise which means he’s alive at least.

“Haz,” Louis repeats, taking a seat at the edge of Harry’s bed and resting his hand over what he thinks is Harry’s hip – there’re too many blankets in the way to really see.

“’m awake,” Harry mumbles from where his head is buried beneath the pillow.

“You sure?” Louis jokes, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when Harry rolls over.

“I’m fine,” he yawns tiredly. “I just feel all stiff and achy from work yesterday. Double shifts are not my kinda pal.”

Louis feels his brow furrow as he appraises Harry’s frame. He looks fine physically - even if he does have purple circles under his eyes - but he has a bad back as it is and standing for nearly ten hours isn’t exactly going to help that.

“Stay here,” Louis instructs. “I’ll be right back.”

He rushes into their bathroom before Harry has a chance to protest, plugging the bath and turning on both taps. He goes rifling through the cabinet under the sink and finds a bath bomb – probably left behind from the last time Lottie was here or, who is he kidding, it’s probably Harry’s – and a few of Harry’s scented candles.

He drops the bath bomb into the water, watching it fizz for a moment before he goes about setting up the candles in places that hopefully won’t be a fire hazard. He lets the bath continue to run while he darts to the kitchen in search of a lighter.

Once the candles are lit and the bath bomb has fully dissolved, leaving the water a nice, soothing lilac colour that he thinks Harry will probably appreciate, he shuts off the taps and checks the temperature.

Satisfied, he returns to Harry’s room and finds him half sitting up in bed, blearily checking through the notifications on his phone.

“Alright, come on, babycakes,” he announces, clapping his hands together. “I’ve got a surprise.”

Harry doesn’t ask – he probably heard the running water, shit, Louis should’ve closed the door – just climbs out of bed and stumbles over to where Louis is waiting in the doorway.

He wraps an arm around Harry’s waist and leads him to the bathroom. Whether he heard the water or not, Harry still lets out a tiny gasp when his gaze lands on the bath.

“Get in,” Louis urges with a tiny smile. “I’ll make you tea.”

Harry stares at the bath a moment longer, at the candles set up around the room, before turning back to Louis with an awestruck expression.

Leaning down, he presses his lips to Louis’ cheek, murmuring, “Thank you _so much_.”

“Anything for you, Curly,” Louis replies softly – only slightly worried about how true that statement is. “Now in you get, let me pamper you.”

Harry rolls his eyes, squeezing Louis’ hand once before stepping away and towards the bath. Louis leaves him to it, closing the door behind him and making his way to the kitchen to boil the kettle.

When Harry gets out of the bath later Louis rubs his shoulders until all the knots are gone and Harry is pliant in his arms, fast asleep with his back against Louis’ chest.

They can go on an adventure another day.

*

The problem is Zayn doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Louis _knows_ that. He knows everything Zayn said to him a couple of weeks ago was bullshit, okay, he knows this.

But for some ungodly reason Louis _can’t get it out of his head._

Every second of the day when Louis isn’t otherwise occupied, it’s on his mind. Because- well, he’s not in love with Harry. He knows he’s not. They’ve been best friends for almost twenty years, Louis is quite certain if they were in love with each other they would’ve figured it out long before now.

(Part of him immediately thinks back to that fateful night when Harry was sixteen and Louis was eighteen and Harry was crying and they were kissing and the world felt like it slowed to a stop but he shakes it out of his head.)

It’s just- maybe there’s a part of him - a teeny, tiny, miniscule part - that thinks there might be something more. That maybe there is something they aren’t saying, that maybe there’s something they could be.

Because sometimes he has these moments, moments where he catches himself staring at Harry for longer than necessary or moments where his heart starts beating wildly in his chest if Harry gets too close or moments when he feels something almost like jealousy when Harry gets chatted up at a club or brings home a date. Moments where it feels like they’re a little more than just friends.

He can’t help but wonder if the reason he’s never entertained the idea of loving Harry like that is because he’s never _let_ himself.

He doesn’t know what to do. So he does the only thing he can think of.

He yells at Zayn.

“ _You_ ,” he accuses menacingly, blustering into Zayn’s studio and ignoring the way the door bangs behind him.

Zayn barely acknowledges him, just sighs and sets down his spray can before eventually deigning to meet Louis’ gaze. “What?”

“This is all your fault,” Louis insists agitatedly. He might be snarling, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, Zayn only blinks at him.

“Come again?” he asks blankly.

“You!” Louis yells, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “You were the one that had to go and put all these ridiculous ideas in my head.”

Zayn stares at him, forehead creasing in confusion as he stands up from where he’d been crouched over his newest piece. “What ideas?”

“ _About Harry_.”

Realisation dawns on Zayn’s face and he grins, looking like the fucking cat that got the cream. “Oh. _Now_ are you admitting you’re in love with him?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Louis huffs, stomping out of Zayn’s studio and into the living room so he can collapse dramatically on the sofa. “I hate you,” he mutters when Zayn follows him out, cackling gleefully to himself.

“Aww tell Uncle Zayn all about it,” Zayn teases, taking up residence on the armchair. He folds his legs underneath him, pulling a cushion into his lap before regarding Louis with an amused look. “Alright seriously, Lou. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t stop thinking about everything you said the other week,” Louis grumbles, turning onto his side so he can see Zayn’s face properly. His expression doesn’t change as he nods.

“About you having feelings for Harry,” he surmises and Louis makes a noise of agreement. “So…have you come to the conclusion that you _do_ have feelings for Harry?”

Louis is silent a moment as he thinks of Harry. Harry, with his beautiful face and even more beautiful soul and his horrid hyena laugh and his freakishly big hands and his dimples and the way his entire face softens sometimes when he looks at Louis and the way he seems so big and so full of life but so small when he’s curled up in Louis’ arms and he just- he wants.

“…Maybe.”

Zayn looks like he’s physically holding himself back from squealing which is just bizarre in and of itself but then he smiles and says, “I’m happy for you, Lou. Really.”

“Are you kidding me?” Louis demands. “This is terrible. Zayn, I just realised I’m in love with my best friend.”

“Yeah,” Zayn replies slowly. “And he loves you back.”

“No he doesn’t,” Louis denies instantly.

“How do you know?”

“Because he would’ve said something by now.”

“But you never said anything either and you just told me you’re in love with him.”

“That’s different,” Louis responds petulantly, folding his arms across his chest like a five-year-old who’s just been told they can’t have their favourite toy.

Zayn gives him an unimpressed look. “Why?”

“It just _is_ ,” Louis insists before dropping his arms and sighing. “I can’t tell him, Zayn. Not until- not ‘til I have a better idea of how he feels.”

“Why don’t you just _ask_ him how he feels?” Zayn suggests like it’s that easy.

“And potentially ruin twenty years of friendship if he doesn’t feel the same way?” Louis retorts incredulously. “Not happening. I just need to…test the waters somehow. I know what Harry’s like when he has a crush on someone, I can figure it out myself.”

“Can I just say for the record this sounds like a terrible idea?”

Louis huffs a laugh and nods his head in what he’s pretty sure is agreement. “Duly noted.”

This is definitely a terrible idea.

*

The problem with Louis realising he has feelings for Harry is that now that he’s started thinking about it, he can’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Everything, all the tiny details he used to overlook, he’s hyperaware of them all now. He’s incredibly conscious of the distance – or lack thereof - between them when they sit on the sofa together or how his fingers always tingle after they touch. And Harry, poor sweet, innocent Harry, is completely oblivious to it all.

Louis wants to put some distance between them – just a little, so he can try to be objective while he figures out what he wants – but all Harry has to do is walk into a room and Louis folds, automatically needing to be in his space.

It’s like when he first left for uni and they were so starved of each other’s touch they’d hardly detach from one another the entire time Louis was home. Except somehow this is worse because, with it, comes a pounding heart and sweaty palms that Louis doesn’t know how to disguise.

It’s been a week since The Revelation and Louis needs to do something. He’s going to crawl out of his skin if he doesn’t get his feelings under wraps soon. So he takes a deep breath, looks over at Harry where he’s curled up on the other end of the sofa watching Friends, their legs tangled together in the middle, and tentatively says, “Hey Haz.”

Harry cranes his neck to look at him. His bun is falling down and his eyes are drooping like he’s on the brink of sleep and Louis wants nothing more than to curl up in his warmth and stay there forever.

“Hmm?”

“You’ve the day off tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry yawns; his voice is raspy and lower than normal and now Louis is absolutely certain he woke him up. Oops. “What’s up, Lou?”

Swallowing hard, Louis forces himself to maintain eye contact. “Wanna spend the day together?”

“You mean like always?” Harry asks, tired eyes lighting up with amusement.

Louis huffs, looking down at his lap and picking at the sleeve of his hoodie. “I mean, like proper go out and stuff. Make a day of it.”

Harry is quiet for so long Louis has no choice but to look up again. When he does he sees Harry dimpling at him, smiling so wide his eyes are nothing more than little slits. “I’d like that, Lou,” he whispers.

“Good,” Louis replies, nodding to himself. He’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard he fears he might draw blood but he’s afraid if he starts smiling he won’t be able to stop.

“Good,” Harry repeats softly, gazing at Louis for a moment more before he shifts back to look at the telly.

Louis releases a quiet breath once Harry’s no longer focused on him, feeling a smile creep onto his face and his cheeks heat up. He knows he didn’t but it feels a lot like Harry just agreed to go on a date with him.

*

Louis sleeps in in the morning – mostly because he couldn’t sleep the night before, too worked up imagining all the million ways their day could go. So it’s not until he feels a hand on his arm that he actually begins to wake up.

“Lou,” Harry calls softly, his voice is hardly more than a whisper, floating somewhere near Louis’ ear. The hand – that he’s now sure is Harry’s – strokes down his arm and even in his sleep-addled haze Louis feels his heart speed up a little. Stupid fucking feelings.

Blinking his eyes open, he finds Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, curls tumbling down his shoulders and dimple etched into his cheek. The light filtering in through the curtains makes him look fucking luminescent and Louis honestly doesn’t know how he never noticed it before now.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harry murmurs, smile widening when he realises Louis is awake. “Tired from the big day out before it’s even started?” he teases.

Louis rolls his eyes, catching the hand Harry had been running up his arm in his own. He surprises himself a little by doing it but he doesn’t want to let go so he doesn’t. “Everyone knows big days out don’t start ‘til after twelve, Harold,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.

Harry laughs – his barking laugh that should be too loud for this hour of the morning but it just makes Louis smile. “Okay then,” he acquiesces. “Well, it’s only half ten right now so I suppose we have time.”

“We do,” Louis agrees, eyes closing again before he can stop himself. He really could do with a few more minutes of sleep before he inevitably freaks out about whatever will or won’t happen today. “Trust me, H.”

Harry’s quiet, “I do,” makes him open his eyes again. Harry’s staring down at him with that soft look he gets sometimes and he’s still holding Louis’ hand and maybe it’s Louis’ head that’s making this seem like it’s more than it is but he just- he needs him closer.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, not daring to meet Harry’s eyes directly because he’s not sure what he’d find there. “Lie down for a while.”

Harry nods and Louis shuffles back towards the wall to give him room. Their hands let go of each other but only so Harry can slip in alongside him. Louis curls around him instantly, arm looping over Harry’s middle and finding his hand again. Part of him thinks he should hold himself back but he never has before so he doesn’t really see the point in stopping now.

Harry only sighs contently and laces their fingers together. And it’s different, Louis thinks, to all the times his heart has started beating faster or Harry’s given him shivers this week. It’s this quiet, consuming sense of being overwhelmed when he’s wrapped up with Harry like this. He just feels…full. So full of a feeling he doesn’t entirely understand yet and the more he thinks about it, the more he realises it was always there, just simmering under the surface waiting for him to notice.

It’s terrifying but it also feels right in a way, feels familiar somehow.

He can’t explain it but he thinks if it meant Harry would feel the same way, he’d want to.

“You’re an enabler, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry mumbles after a few minutes, breaking Louis out of his musings and making his lips quirk. Harry always tries so desperately hard to be an early riser and he mostly succeeds unless Louis has his way.

“You love it,” Louis grins, cuddling closer and pressing his smile into Harry’s shoulder.

The last thing he hears before he drifts back to sleep is a quiet, “Maybe.”

*

When Louis wakes up for real an hour later it’s to an empty bed but the sound of the shower across the hall is explanation enough for that. Ambling into the kitchen he discovers tea – still warm – brewed in his mug and his cereal already poured into his bowl, milk carton sitting beside it just waiting to be added.

Fuck, he loves Harry.

It’s the only thought running through his head as he carries his breakfast to the kitchen table. Pour the milk in his cereal – _I love Harry_ – take a sip of his tea – _I love Harry_ – start eating while he skims through Twitter on his phone – _I love Harry_.

He’s almost surprised at how used to that phrase he’s gotten. Then again, it’s been true for almost twenty years, it’s not going to change now just because it means something a little different.

An exaggerated call of, “ _He’s alive!”_ makes him look up. Harry strolls into the kitchen with a smirk on his face. He’s got a towel around his waist and another in his hand mussing his wet curls. Louis may or may not choke on his cereal.

“So are you gonna tell me what we’re doing today yet?” Harry asks idly, leaning against the counter as he towels his hair.

“If I tell you it’s a surprise will you leave me alone?” Louis retorts, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

Harry just eyes him appraisingly for a moment before his smirk becomes even more pronounced. “You don’t know, do you?”

“What?”

“You don’t have anything planned; you’re just winging this whole thing, aren’t you?” Harry questions, looking gleeful at the thought of having caught Louis out.

“Excuse me, Harold,” he cuts in haughtily. “What do you take me for? Of course I know where we’re going.”

“Where then?” Harry presses.

“It’s a _surprise_ ,” Louis repeats through gritted teeth, but he stumbles a little at the end and his smile peeks out. He rolls his eyes at Harry’s victorious grin and tries in vain to hide his own upturned mouth. “Will you fucking get dressed so we can go?”

“You’re one to talk!” Harry scoffs. “You’re still eating your breakfast.”

“I’m done now,” Louis responds blithely, standing up from the table and pointedly going to put his bowl in the sink, much to Harry’s amusement.

“Alright, alright,” Harry sighs, hands raised in defeat. “I’ll go, meet you in the living room in fifteen?”

“When have you ever known me to get ready in fifteen minutes, honestly Harry,” Louis snorts as he follows him down the short hallway.

He takes his time getting ready, casting his eyes out the window every so often at the clear blue sky. That’s what he’d been banking on. It’s the first week of August and probably as hot as it’s going to get this summer and Louis intends to make the most of it.

Once he’s dressed and he’s satisfied with his hair – he leaves it soft, knows Harry prefers it like that – he goes digging in his wardrobe for the old picnic blanket he’d brought with him from home when he visited at Christmas. It’s the one he and Harry used to play on when they were kids; Louis has many a fond memory of all the lunches they ate, all the games they played and all the afternoon naps they used this thing for.

After he finds it, he slings it over his arm and grabs his phone and keys, pocketing his wallet as he goes.

It’s only fifteen minutes after twelve – not bad - when he meets Harry in the living room. He’s sitting on the arm chair, texting, and Louis allows himself a moment – just a moment – to watch him.

His sunglasses keep his hair pushed back off his face and he’s got on his pale, yellow short-sleeved, button-down shirt that always makes his skin look more tanned than it is. He’s still wearing his skinny jeans because you’d be hard pressed to get him out of them on a good day but he’s got them rolled up to his calves at least, giving his legs _some_ breathing room.

He looks up then, probably sensing Louis staring at him, and a smile instantly appears on his face. “Took you long enough,” he laughs and but then he stops short. “Is that what I think it is?” he asks, pointing at the blanket over Louis’ arm.

“Depends on what you think it is, Harold,” Louis answers primly before striding towards the front door. “Come along now!”

“Lou, seriously!” Harry calls as he jogs after him, eliminating the space between them in seconds. “Is that the blanket we always used to play on when we were kids?”

Louis pauses in locking the door and smiles at him. “Yeah, H. it is.”

Harry looks floored which is silly because it’s just a blanket – except Louis knows it’s not just a blanket; it’s a thousand memories rushing through his mind at once. It’s the same feeling Louis had gotten when he’d found it in the attic when he was helping Dan get the Christmas decorations. He’d felt frozen, wrapped up in all the little flickers of his life with Harry dancing across the backs of his eyelids as soon as he’d inhaled that same smell – though a little bit musty now – and felt the same scratchy-soft wool under his fingers. He’d instantly asked his mum if he could take it home with him.

“How did you- how?” Harry asks quietly, gaze still trained on where the blanket sits over Louis’ arm.

“Found it in the attic last Christmas and asked mum if I could take it with me,” he shrugs nonchalantly but he feels like he’s standing on the precipice of something really important.

Harry finally looks at him, eyes wide and disbelieving, before a brilliant, beautiful smile overtakes his face. “I’ll hold it,” he announces, slipping the blanket out of Louis’ arms and hugging it to his chest.

Louis watches him bemusedly before turning to finish locking the door. “It’s a blanket, not a baby, love.”

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles and Louis can’t help but grin when he sees the red tinge to his cheeks. “I missed this blanket.”

Louis doesn’t say anything else, just lets him have his moment and guides him to the lift with a hand on the small of his back.

Harry keeps the blanket on his lap while Louis drives and every time he checks out of the corner of his eye he catches Harry smiling serenely down at it.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at their destination; they probably could’ve walked but Louis is anticipating being too lazy to walk home later so he’s taking pre-emptive measures. There’s a park that they live nearby. It’s big and sprawling and runs alongside a river and Louis loves it.

He and the lads usually use it to have a kickabout when the weather’s nice but that’s not what he has in mind today. The place is busy, not packed, but certainly more bustling than normal – the fine weather sending everyone out of doors.

There’re mothers with babies and toddlers, gathered on blankets similar to Louis’ own and kids playing with footballs and teenagers grouped together in clusters with music playing through their iPhone speakers and something about all the noise just makes Louis feel at peace.

“This is where our great adventure starts?” Harry asks, falling into step beside him as they make their way from the carpark towards the green area. It should sound sceptical but Louis can hear the smile in his voice.

“Precisely.”

Harry doesn’t say anything else as Louis searches for a clear patch of grass for them. When he finds one to his liking where the sun is shining directly on them but not too glare-y he gestures for Harry to put the blanket down.

Harry dutifully spreads the blanket out, crouching down to make sure it’s smoothed out properly. Satisfied, Louis sits down before slipping on his sunglasses and stretching out on his back. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him and he counts _one, two, three, fo-_

“So this is your grand plan?”

Louis bites back his grin and raises his sunglasses to meet Harry’s gaze. “Sure is.”

Harry doesn’t look annoyed or angry - like Louis knew he wouldn’t – he mostly just looks curious. “Why? I thought you wanted to do something exciting?”

“Because, Curly, I like doing everything with you but I especially like it when we do nothing at all.”

Louis slips his shades back on again and puts his hands behind his head, ready to maybe go for a little doze when he feels Harry shift beside him. When he cracks an eye open Harry is lying on his tummy next to him, head resting on his forearm as he watches Louis quietly.

“Did you bring lunch?” Harry asks.

“Nope.”

“Water?”

“No.”

“Sunscreen?”

Louis only scoffs in answer.

“Where are we meant to get food?” Harry presses but Louis can hear him holding back giggles.

“Little shop around the corner, isn’t there?”

Harry does laugh then, curling in on himself and inevitably curling closer to Louis. “You’re still the exact same as when we were kids, Lou.”

“What? Horribly unimaginative?”

“No,” Harry huffs. “Do what you feel like and figure out the rest later.”

It makes Louis pause because well- if he did what he felt like right now he and Harry would be kissing and he could leave the figuring everything out part until later. He thinks that might be the one thing he should actually think through though.

“You always did say I was spontaneous, Hazza,” he says then because he has to say _something_ and that sounds the safest out of all the thoughts running through his head right now.

Harry hums and Louis can see him picking at the blanket between them out of the corner of his eye.

“Lou,” he says softly to catch Louis’ attention – like he ever lost it. Louis tilts his head up slightly so he knows he’s listening. “You’re my favourite person to do nothing with too.”

He rolls his head to the left and sees Harry biting his lip around a smile, eyes shining as they flit all over Louis’ face and it just- it feels like more. More than those simple words; it feels like an admission. Of what, Louis isn’t sure yet.

Tentatively, he reaches out a hand and tangles his fingers with Harry’s, carefully watching Harry’s features as he does. When Harry’s smile only brightens, he relaxes.

He’s not sure what’s happening right now but he thinks he might just hold Harry’s hand until he figures it out.

*

Lunch consists of ice-cream from the shop ‘round the corner that melts too quickly and gets their fingers sticky. They sit cross-legged on the picnic blanket while they eat and Louis swears there’s a picture exactly like this from when he was nine and Harry was seven. (He has a feeling he’s going to be flicking through one of his old photo albums when he goes home to find it.)

They talk and it’s Louis’ favourite kind of conversation – the rambling kind with no endpoint where they tell each other all the little stories and tidbits they forgot to mention before. And Louis is certain nothing calms him like this; nothing makes him feel more settled than just getting to spend the day with Harry without any other responsibilities weighing on his mind.

He lies down again after a while, on his stomach this time, with his head resting in the crook of his elbow as Harry sits contentedly next to them. It’s one of the things Louis loves most about their friendship – the fact that they can just sit together in silence and it’s never awkward or uncomfortable; they know how to enjoy the stillness together as much as they know how to talk until their voices are hoarse.

He watches Harry unashamedly, lips twitching up in a smile as he starts knotting daisies together, making the beginnings of a daisy chain.

“You should braid them into your hair,” Louis murmurs after a few minutes once Harry’s successfully tied his first chain together and set it aside on the blanket.

He looks over at Louis at the sound of his voice, an almost bashful smile spreading across his face. “Don’t really know how without a mirror,” he shrugs, idly twirling the daisy he already has in his hand.

Louis just sits up, scooting closer and holding his hand out for the flower. “Let me do it then.”

Harry starts, mouth dropping open in surprise and looking like he almost wants to protest but Louis doesn’t give him a choice.

“Five sisters, Haz,” he reminds, gesturing for the flower again which Harry drops into his hand on autopilot. “I know a thing or two about braiding hair.”

Harry doesn’t try to argue this time, just scoops up his bundle of daisies and deposits them next to Louis’ knee. “Where do you want me?”

“You’re fine like that,” Louis tells him, shuffling just a little bit closer so he can comfortably reach Harry’s hair from where he’s sitting perpendicular to him. He sets to work then, taking a section of hair behind Harry’s ear – the springy bit that’s secretly his favourite – and beginning to plait it. He’s careful to weave the flowers in, making sure they’re secure and that the stems aren’t sticking out. Harry is mostly silent but Louis watches the line of his shoulders relax the longer they sit there.

When he gets to the end he slips the hair tie off his wrist – Harry always forgets so Louis usually carries some just in case – and nimbly ties off the braid. He leans back to admire his work and nods in satisfaction, nudging Harry gently to get his attention. “All done, H.”

Harry turns to look at him and fuck, he just looks so bloody grateful and thankful and Louis wants to kiss him _so bad_.  Instead of saying anything, Harry just picks up the daisy chain he’d made earlier and drops it over Louis’ head, making sure it settles comfortably around his neck.

“You wear mine and I wear yours,” he says softly, nudging his forehead against Louis’ and Louis definitely isn’t breathing right now.

Swallowing the dryness in his throat, he nods. “You make them sound like wedding rings or something,” he tries to joke but the way his throat catches doesn’t really have the desired effect.

Harry still huffs a laugh though and shakes his head. “Well, according to Niall we’re already married.”

Louis laughs, he feels like he might throw up but he laughs, and throws an arm around Harry’s shoulder because he needs to break the tension _somehow_. “Come on, Curly. Let’s take a picture of your pretty hair for your Instagram.”

Harry needs no further prompting to get out his phone and open the camera, holding it out in front of them and pressing closer to Louis. “Don’t pull a funny face, Lou,” he warns. “Smile.”

Louis compromises; instead of pulling a stupid face, he leans in and kisses Harry’s cheek to make _Harry_ smile. It looks better like that anyway.

Harry’s cheeks are pink and his smile is shy when Louis pulls back and there’s a tiny part of him that’s going to feel smug about it even if he won’t say it out loud.

“Come on,” Harry says suddenly. “Let’s go for a walk and then get dinner. You stay lying out here any longer and you’re gonna get sunstroke.”

“Always have to ruin the fun by being responsible,” he mutters as he stands up, dancing away when Harry tries to elbow him. “Come on then, Harold,” he sighs melodramatically. “Let’s walk along the river.”

Harry slings the blanket over his shoulder and follows Louis’ lead towards the little path that runs parallel to the water. It’s just after five and the park has cleared out a bit now with it being closer to dinner time but there’s still plenty of people milling about. The minute they reach the path Harry links his arm in Louis’, offering him a dazzling smile when Louis looks over at him.

“Today has been really nice, Lou,” he comments idly, eyes on the water as they walk.

“You should know by now my ideas are always the best,” Louis informs him haughtily even if he feels a little bit giddy on the inside. He just- he never said it was a date and it’s not but it feels like it is. Actually no, it’s better than a date. Dates are awkward and you spend most of it lying to impress the other person. This- this feels like they’ve been together forever and they’ve just decided to spend the day together. It’s what he wants the rest of his life to feel like.

“I know,” Harry agrees easily, throwing him a wry grin when they lock eyes.

They walk the rest of the way mostly in silence, looping around and making their way back towards the car lost in their own thoughts. (Louis’ thinking about whether Harry’s lips still taste the same as they did when he was sixteen. What Harry’s thinking, he can only guess.)

He drives them to their favourite hole in the wall restaurant for dinner and feels the warmth that’s been sitting in his chest all day begin to spread as they banter with their favourite waiter and get escorted to their table, as Harry orders his favourite dish and Louis orders his even though he knows they’ll end up going halvsies and sharing anyway, as Harry’s foot links with his under the table and stays there.

It’s perfect and Louis can’t figure out if what’s happening right now is a product of him actually realising he has feelings for Harry and he’s just projecting or if it’s something that’s always been there that he’s just never noticed.

Either way, right now still feels like a maybe. Maybe he likes me back. Maybe we could be together. Maybe we could be enough.

By the time they get home Louis is too sleepy from the sun and too full from his food to really have the energy to do anything beyond changing into his joggers and going to bed. He’s hardly been under his covers ten minutes when he hears Harry sneaking into his room, banging his foot on the end of the bed and making even more noise than he would’ve if he’d just walked in normally.

“Alright there, Haz?” Louis asks casually, biting back a laugh when Harry looks up from where he’s clutching his foot to scowl at him.

“Shut up,” he grumbles even as he hobbles towards the head of the bed. “I wanna stay in here tonight, my bed’s cold.”

“Your bed’s cold because you have to actually _get in it_ to warm it up,” Louis points out.

“That’ll take too long,” Harry whines, nudging Louis’ side insistently until he curls his legs up, allowing Harry the room to climb over him to get to his side of the bed.

“I thought I was the one who always gets cold?” Louis asks, rolling onto his other side and pulling Harry back towards his chest because he knows that’s what he wants.

“Yeah, which is why your room is warmer than mine,” Harry mumbles, folding his arm over Louis’ and pulling their joined hands closer to his chest.

“Whatever you say, H,” Louis snorts. “You know maybe if you stopped sleeping naked you wouldn’t get cold.”

“I’m not naked right now,” Harry says slowly.

“And look at that, you’re warm!”

Harry laughs once before it transforms into a yawn. “There’s a flaw in your logic somewhere but I’m too tired to figure it out right now. I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“’kay,” Louis replies sleepily, nuzzling the nape of Harry’s neck and letting his eyes drift shut.

“Lou,” Harry says a few minutes later when Louis is on the brink of sleep.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Sometimes I just like sleeping next to you, you know.”

Louis pauses, considering how best to reply. Eventually he decides he’s too exhausted and too in love to really care. “I know,” he whispers. “So do I.”

With Harry in his arms, he sleeps.

*

So Louis is having a bit of a crisis. Because, well, something unlocks inside him after that day with Harry. He’s not just thinking about his own feelings anymore, he’s thinking about whether or not Harry feels the same way. More than that, he’s starting to believe he might.

But he’s sceptical by nature and he can’t help but think it’s just a cruel bout of wishful thinking combined with hopeful optimism that’s making him even consider the _possibility_ Harry has romantic feelings for him. So he decides to talk to Zayn again; it’s not fool proof but he needs to vent.

They’re at Niall and Liam’s flat and Harry is the only one missing. When Louis had inquired as to why he wasn’t with Niall when he arrived home from work Niall just shrugged and told him the restaurant was hosting a birthday and Harry got stuck behind doing the finishing touches on the cake.

Niall and Liam are currently engrossed in a game of Fifa and Louis realises he has an incredibly small window of time to get Zayn alone and get his advice before Harry shows up and before the lads finish their game.

“Z, are you going for a fag any time soon?” Louis asks as casually as he possibly can. Which, unfortunately, is not very.

Zayn doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone as he answers. “You haven’t smoked since uni, Louis.”

“I wasn’t going to have one _too_ ,” he huffs. “I was just thinking of getting some fresh air.”

Zayn does look up that, narrowing his eyes while he appraises Louis. “By standing next to me while I smoke?”

“Never mind,” Louis grumbles, holding in his noise of frustration and crossing his arms over his chest. Oblivious, Zayn is.

Niall, apparently, isn’t.

He pauses the game and turns around from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet to give Louis a look. “What’s wrong with you?”

Louis makes an affronted noise, immediately going for defence. “What d’you mean?!”

“You’re being all shifty,” Niall accuses. “Why do you wanna get Zayn alone?”

“Wh- I am _not_ ,” he denies vehemently, scowling at Niall for good measure. “And maybe I wanna talk to Zayn about something, that’s none of your business.”

“Unless it’s about a surprise party for my birthday at the end of the month then there’s really no reason you can’t talk to all of us,” Liam intones, raising his eyebrows when Louis turns his glare to him.

“Wait,” Zayn cuts in, his expression suggesting he’s finally fucking figured out why Louis wanted to talk to him. “Is this about Harry?”

“What about Harry?” Liam asks automatically.

“Zayn!” Louis exclaims indignantly, giving him a look that very plainly says _what the fuck, bro?_

Zayn, the dick, only smirks at him.

“Hang on,” Niall interrupts. “Is this about how Harry and Louis have been dating without really dating for like nine years?”

“Pretty much,” Zayn shrugs and Liam makes a noise of understanding.

“Oh well you could’ve just said that,” he says, looking at Louis completely unassumingly as if Louis hasn’t just heard the most ludicrous sentence he’s possibly ever heard in his entire life.

He gapes at the lot of them and when all he gets is blank stares in return he starts to splutter. “Dating without really- _what?!_ Have you _all_ thought this the whole time?”

The boys share a look before Niall seems to decide to be the one who’ll bite the bullet. “Well, yeah,” he says like it’s _obvious_.

Louis can only stare at them utterly uncomprehendingly, mouth working as he tries to come up with an answer until he finally grinds out, “ _How?_ ” and buries his head in his hands.

“Louis,” Liam says carefully, like Louis’ a baby animal he’s afraid to scare off. “Don’t tell me you’ve only just noticed…”

“Yes, Liam. This is the reaction of a person who’s known they’ve been in love with their best mate for years,” he snaps hysterically, fixing Liam with an incredulous look that makes him shrink back from where he’s sitting on the floor with Niall.

“But, like,” Niall continues a little doubtfully. “It’s obvious.”

“Not to _me_ ,” Louis hisses shrilly. Jesus christ, he needs new friends.  “Or Harry,” he adds belatedly.

“Still haven’t figured out if Harry feels the same way then?” Zayn surmises, which isn’t really all that helpful now.

Louis shrugs noncommittally, staring steadfastly at his hands and Niall snorts.

“What are you on about? Of course he does.”

Louis looks up at that, eyes meeting Niall’s. “Why? Has he said something to you?”

“No,” Niall replies slowly. “But like I said. It’s obvious.”

“It really is,” Liam adds, offering Louis an apologetic smile when he scowls at him. “You two’ve been gone for each other for as long as I’ve known you. I always thought you were having us on in uni when you’d say you weren’t together.”

“That’s just how _we are_ though,” Louis says confusedly – he’s way in over his head right now, how the fuck have they all been sitting on this for so long?

“Yeah and how you are is not how normal mates are,” Niall explains simply as if anything about this is simple.

“We’re getting off topic,” Zayn says, regarding Louis with a pointed look. “What happened? Did you talk to Harry?”

“I- well, kind of?” Louis hedges.

“What does that mean?” Zayn presses.

“It means we went out the other day and it felt like a date and I think maybe it could’ve possibly felt like that for him too,” Louis breathes out in a rush, meeting each of their gazes hesitantly. Liam looks sympathetic, smiling encouragingly at him. Niall looks like he wants to cry in relief at the word “date”. And Zayn has a tiny smug tilt to his mouth.

“That sounds promising,” he nods.

Louis bites his lip, trying to keep the anxiousness out of his voice when he speaks. “What if I’m just making it all up in my head though?”

“I promise you, you’re not,” Niall scoffs and Louis sighs. That’s not helping, Horan.

“I wanna tell him,” he confesses quietly. “But I don’t want to ruin everything if I’m wrong.”

“Lou, this is Harry we’re talking about,” Liam reminds him. “Even if, on the off chance, he didn’t feel the same way, do you honestly think he’d push you away?”

“No,” Louis admits because he knows exactly what Harry would do. “He’d break his own heart trying to make me happy and bend over backwards to make sure I knew how much he cared about me. Which would just make everything worse.”

“But-“

Zayn doesn’t get to finish his sentence because no sooner has Louis finished speaking when the front door swings open, revealing a dishevelled looking Harry still in his chef’s uniform.

All four of them turn to stare at him and Harry smiles sheepishly. “Hey,” he offers weakly. He looks exhausted, his hair has come loose in his bun and the bags under his eyes are definitely more pronounced than they were this morning. Suddenly Louis doesn’t care about what either of them feels; he just wants to take care of his boy.

“You okay, love?” he asks quietly, ignoring the look Zayn shoots him.

Harry sighs, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes. He pads into the living area where the lads are sitting and picks his way through Niall and Liam on the floor to make his way to Louis on the sofa. “Just been a long day,” he shrugs, wincing at the tightness in his shoulders the action causes.

Louis knows exactly what he needs. He doesn’t bother saying anything, just opens his arms.

Without needing further prompting, Harry drops onto the sofa, sagging into Louis’ waiting arms. Louis takes a second to rearrange them, lying properly flat on his back while Harry settles between his legs and uses his chest as a pillow. He’s glad Zayn opted for the armchair tonight because Louis would’ve definitely kicked him off the couch to accommodate Harry.

Harry’s cheek is flat against his chest, the top of his head just tickling Louis’ chin and Louis brings his hands up to trail up and down his back – he’s probably gonna need to give him a back rub when they get home.

None of the lads say anything but Louis can feel all their eyes on them; if Harry notices, he doesn’t point it out.

“How’d the party go?” Niall asks instead, opting for neutral territory, thank god.

“Okay,” Harry sighs and if Louis had to guess he’d say his eyes were closed. “They loved the cake,” he adds happily, the soft pride in his voice making Louis melt a bit.

“Of course they did,” he says, running a soothing hand over Harry’s shoulder. “You made it.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head weakly against Louis’ chest and mumbling a soft, “y’r too good for me, Lou.”

“Only telling the truth, darling,” he murmurs low enough that the boys won’t hear. Harry just hums in response, one of his hands snaking out to find Louis’.

Louis lets him tangle their fingers together and doesn’t pay any mind to the looks he knows Niall, Liam and Zayn are sharing right now. He wouldn’t have cared before and he shouldn’t care now. He doesn’t really, not while Harry’s here and needs to be taken care of.

After a while the lads seem to tire of Fifa and Liam decides to put on a DVD instead; neither he or Niall try to move them, letting Harry rest and opting to stay sprawled on the floor with their backs against the sofa. Louis doesn’t really pay attention to the movie if he’s honest. He’s too busy alternating between absently twirling Harry’s curls around his fingers and rubbing his back. Harry doesn’t let go of his left hand and Louis doesn’t make him. What better things could his hand be doing besides holding Harry’s anyway?

Harry falls asleep before long. It’s obvious the moment he becomes a dead weight on top of Louis and his hand goes lax in Louis’. He doesn’t bother trying to wake him, just continues petting his hair and keeping one eye trained on the movie.

“Lou.”

Louis cranes his head at the whisper, meeting Zayn’s gaze over the top of Harry’s head.

“ _Tell him_ ,” Zayn mouths, offering him an encouraging smile.

Louis feels his cheeks heat up and he drops his head back onto the arm rest beneath him.

He might tell him.

*

When he wakes Harry up a few hours later to head home he’s barely functioning. He clings to Louis’ back like a koala, stumbling out to the taxi and practically climbing into Louis’ lap once they’re safely inside.

Zayn takes the front seat since he’s getting dropped off first and chats amiably with the driver; Louis just keeps an arm wrapped around Harry and rests his cheek on the top of Harry’s head where it’s buried in the crook of his neck.

The drive home after they reach Zayn’s is thankfully short and after paying the driver, Louis hauls Harry out of the cab and directs him into their building with his hands on his waist. “You’re so useless when you’re tired,” he huffs as Harry trips over his own feet when he’s stepping through the door.

“Stop bein’ mean,” Harry grumbles and Louis rolls his eyes when he sees Harry’s are closed – far too trusting, that one.

The journey from their lobby to the lift to their flat takes about five minutes longer than it should’ve but Louis eventually gets Harry into their flat, letting him slouch against the wall while he deals with locking the door.

“Alright, come on, love,” he coaxes, holding his hand out for Harry. “Bedtime.”

Harry nods sleepily, scrubbing at his eyes and looking like a disgruntled kitten – Louis is so fucking endeared. He latches onto Louis’ hand, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder as he guides them down through the living area and down the hallway.

He’s just about to lead Harry into his bedroom when the boy in question makes a noise of protest. “No, Lou,” he whines into Louis’ neck, clinging tighter. “Wanna sleep with you.”

Louis freezes. He knows what Harry means; it still gives him a pause though. “You sure they didn’t give you champagne at that birthday party before you left work?” he teases lightly, hovering in the hallway between their bedrooms and eyeing both doors uncertainly.

“You know what I mean,” Harry huffs, blowing a breath out against the curve of Louis’ throat. He shivers and he hopes to fucking god Harry’s too exhausted to notice.

Louis hesitates as he considers what to do. He wants to share a bed; he always does and quite frankly the frequency with which it’s been happening recently has made it pretty difficult to sleep on his own. But he can’t help but feel like he’s taking advantage somehow, like it’s not fair to do it when Harry doesn’t know the full extent of his feelings. But then Harry’s making grumpy noises again and tugging on his hoodie and Louis figures he’s too needy to be responsible right now.

“Okay, babe,” he soothes, leading them towards Harry’s room. When Harry starts to object again Louis shushes him quickly. “Let’s stay in yours tonight, H. Your back is killing you from sleeping on my mattress all the time.”

Harry seems appeased by that and allows Louis to push his bedroom door open. “Get changed, love,” he instructs into Harry’s hair, letting him go reluctantly. “I’ll be right back.”

Louis goes back to his own room to change and give himself a second to breathe. He just needs a moment, only a moment, to bring himself back to earth so he doesn’t get lost in some fantasy world where he and Harry are together and this is their life.

Taking a deep breath, he leaves his room once he’s changed and pads back into Harry’s. Harry is already in bed when he gets there, eyes fluttering in his attempt to keep them open – like he was afraid Louis wouldn’t come back if he closed them.

Louis doesn’t say anything as he climbs into his side of the bed – he especially doesn’t think about the fact that he _has_ a side of the bed in relation to Harry in the first place. Harry latches onto him as soon as he’s lying down, curving against his side and resting his head over Louis’ chest.

Louis feels all too aware of the fact Harry’s ear is pressed directly over his heart and sincerely hopes he doesn’t notice how hard it’s beating. Harry, for his part, only presses a gentle kiss to his t-shirt covered chest and murmurs a soft, “goodnight, Lou,” before settling against him again.

Louis swallows the dryness in his throat and curls a hand into Harry’s hair before letting his eyes drift shut. “Night, love.”

*

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry groans, burying his face in his pillow and clenching it between his fingers.

Louis smirks and digs his fingers into the knot of tense muscle between Harry’s shoulder blades. “There?” he guesses, hard pressed to wipe the smug grin off his face from where he’s perched on top of Harry’s bum.

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry sighs, sounding completely blissed out as his grip on the pillow relaxes.

Harry’s always had a bit of a bad back. He blames it on the paper round he used to do around their neighbourhood when he was a kid. Louis rolls his eyes and blames it on Harry’s clumsiness and a bad fall he had on a trampoline when he was ten. Either way, when Louis was a teenager he googled massage tips to help Harry deal with it. He’s been Harry’s unofficial masseuse ever since.

He continues massaging the same spot until he feels Harry’s muscles finally begin to loosen and the boy becomes putty in his hands, melting into the mattress underneath him.

“Y’r fingers are magic, Lou,” he slurs, voice muffled by the pillow.

Louis barks out a laugh, smoothing his hands over Harry’s shoulders. “That’s what all the boys say.”

He hears Harry huff out something under his breath but it’s said too low for him to make out what it is.

He retaliates by pressing down hard on another area of tension just below Harry’s right shoulder blade, eliciting a moan from Harry. And all too suddenly Louis becomes aware of his position. He’s in Harry’s bed, sitting on top of his fucking _arse_ while Harry is shirtless beneath him and Louis’ hands are all over him.

Harry making sex noises whenever they did this before was always funny, just something else Louis could tease him about. Given Louis’ recent revelations, he’s failing to see the funny side right now…

His mouth is dry and his hands still on Harry’s back without meaning to as he tries to figure out how to proceed. He doesn’t think he can make it through the rest of this without getting hard. Not when he’s suddenly so aware of Harry shifting restlessly beneath him or the way his face is slack with pleasure where it’s resting on the pillow. He can’t-

“Why’d you stop?” Harry whines, cutting off his internal freak-out, and he automatically begins moving his hands up and down Harry’s back again.

“Sorry,” he mutters faintly. “Thought I heard the phone ring.”

“Leave it,” Harry mumbles. “’m not done with you yet.”

And oh- alright then. That’s really not helping the situation. Louis can feel his cock stirring in his pants and he needs to end this immediately; this is too much, he can’t-

“Y’know what I’m gonna do?” he says suddenly, voice only sounding mildly hysterical. “I’m gonna book you into a spa. In fact, I’ll go too. You deserve a spa day and I’m sure a professional could handle this much better than I could,” he babbles as he pointedly doesn’t think about what it would feel like if the last layer of clothing separating them wasn’t there.

Harry rolls over underneath him, unseating Louis for a moment until he’s flat on his back and oh great, now Louis’ sitting on his _crotch,_ what is this- torture-Louis-with-sexual-frustration day?

“No one does it like you do, Lou,” Harry murmurs, hands falling to Louis’ thighs as he looks earnestly up at him. “You’re the only one who knows how to get rid of all that built-up tension.”

Yep. Definitely torture-Louis-with-sexual-frustration day.

*

Sharing a bed seems to become an unshakable habit over the next few days. Some nights they makes excuses:

“The heating’s not working in my room.”

“Let’s watch a movie on your laptop.”

“My sheets are in the wash.”

Other times they simply don’t say anything, just curl up next to each other and let themselves drift off.

The thing is, it’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before. They have plenty of times throughout their friendship. To this day, they still do sometimes after a night out or if they’re watching a movie in one another’s rooms or something. The difference is now it’s happening every night.

Louis doesn’t really know what it means but he knows it means _something_.

He hasn’t told Harry how he feels yet, mostly because he still can’t really comprehend it himself and he doesn’t even know what he’d begin to say if given the chance. So he keeps it to himself for now until he can explain it the right way.

He knows something has changed though, he can feel it – the little click every time they look at each other. And every time Harry’s cheeks pinken if they stare at each other for too long Louis has to physically force himself to keep his mouth shut lest all his feelings burst out of him.

He’ll tell him. He _wants_ to. He just has to be sure.

*

It’s a Saturday night and, by some miraculous feat, Harry and Niall actually have the day off so, being the young, single men they are, they decide to go out.

They pre-drink at Harry and Louis’ place, making cocktails that definitely don’t contain the correct measurements and that leave them all pleasantly tipsy as they make their way into town.

The club is buzzing when they arrive and Liam expertly weaves them through the crowds of people to find an empty booth to take up residence in. Louis sits closest to the wall as Harry squeezes in beside him while Liam and Zayn sit opposite them. Niall yells over the noise that he’s going to get the first round before disappearing into the throngs of people – even though it basically defeats the purpose of pre-drinking which is to _avoid_ paying ridiculous club prices for alcohol in the first place.

It’s fairly difficult to have a conversation over the noise so they mostly just pay attention to what’s going on around them while they wait for Niall to come back. Louis, for his part, is generally just trying not to stare too obviously at Harry. Harry in his black sheer shirt, half unbuttoned and his jeans so tight they might as well be painted on. It’s fucking ridiculous.

He can only take so much of Harry’s thigh pressed against his own before he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his own skin. So he nudges Harry gently in the ribs to catch his attention.

Harry turns to look at him, his eyes bright in the low light and Louis finds himself offering a weak smile as he half-signs, half-yells that he’s gonna help Niall with the drinks.

Harry nods in understanding and scoots out of the booth to let Louis out and Louis scrambles out of his seat, hurrying away from the table without a backwards glance. He needs more alcohol in his system before he can look Harry in the eye properly.

Getting to the bar is a difficult enough feat but Louis is small and pretty good at shoving through crowds, so he slips in between group after group and eventually arrives at his destination. Niall, however, is nowhere to be seen.

Louis lifts up on his toes, trying to see over the heads of people to find a shock of blond hair but it’s to no avail. He’s just about to try the other end of the bar when he bumps into someone.

Strong arms immediately catch him around the waist - even though he barely stumbled – and when he looks up his eyes land on a tall, muscly bloke with messy dark hair. He’s attractive, Louis supposes, but while he’s ostensibly single right now, he’s not exactly looking.

The guy, however, still has his hands on Louis’ waist and is smiling charmingly – or what he thinks is charmingly. “So sorry,” he apologises, hand not so innocently sliding over Louis’ hip. “Didn’t see you.”

“No problem, mate,” Louis smiles tightly, holding back an eyeroll. The bloke hasn’t even tried it on yet and Louis already feels embarrassed for him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m looking for my mate,” he continues, far more dismissively than he means to be. He makes to step away but the guy’s hands tighten on his waist.

“Why don’t I help you look?” he offers. “I’m Peter-“

Louis huffs, cutting him off. “Listen, that’s great but I-“

“Lou! There you are!” a voice comes from behind him and instantly he has a different pair of arms wrapping around his chest. He freezes for a second because it’s Harry but then he relaxes because it’s _Harry._

Louis leans back in Harry’s hold, letting him support his weight and when he steps back Peter’s hands fall off his hips without resistance.

“Who’s your friend, Lou?” Harry murmurs it into his ear, eyes trained on Peter, and Louis knows it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear but he’s not particularly concerned about that right now when he’s trying to suppress his shiver at the low rumble of Harry’s voice.

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis mumbles, gaze still on Peter’s narrowed eyes.

“Oh. Well I hope you don’t mind me stealing this one back,” Harry says to Peter and it takes everything Louis has not to burst out laughing because that’s Harry’s _customer voice_ that he uses when pissy diners at the restaurant are being rude about his food and he has to pretend to be polite.

He doesn’t give Peter a chance to reply, just slowly begins tugging Louis away and within seconds Peter has disappeared in the crowd. As soon as he’s out of sight, Louis turns around in the circle of Harry’s arms and raises his eyebrows.

Harry immediately turns sheepish under his gaze and looks away with an embarrassed smile.

“So, what was that then?” Louis asks with a smirk, poking Harry’s chest to make him return his gaze.

“Niall came back to the table without you,” Harry mutters; Louis wouldn’t even be able to hear if it weren’t for the fact that he breathes the words right into his ear. “When I went to look for you I found that guy all over you.”

“Mm, you seemed quite possessive there, Curly,” Louis drawls teasingly. This is a pretty regular occurrence, honestly. Louis’ lost count of the amount of times they’ve pretended to be boyfriends to get someone who won’t take a hint to fuck off.

“Shut up,” Harry grumbles and Louis can’t tell in the dim light of the club but he’d be willing to bet all his money that Harry’s blushing.

“Shall we head back to the table then?” he suggests, nodding his head vaguely in the direction of their booth.

“The others are gone dancing,” Harry tells him, eyes on the dancefloor before they return to Louis. “Wanna get out of here?”

“We just got here?” Louis replies confusedly.

“’m not really feeling it tonight,” Harry says, arm slipping from around Louis’ middle to catch his hand. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Louis watches him for a second, takes in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, spares a parting thought for the lads and decides he’d follow Harry to the ends of the earth as long as he never lost that look in his eye.

“Well then lead the way,” he agrees, gesturing for Harry to go first.

Harry’s smile is blinding as he starts pulling Louis towards the door. The cool air outside is a shock to the system after the stuffiness of the club but he barely gets a chance to get used to it before Harry’s ushering him into a taxi.

Once they’re seated Louis sends a text off to the lads to let them know they’ve left, only half-listening as Harry tells the driver their destination. Except then Louis catches the name of a familiar street and drops his phone in his lap to regard Harry with a curious look. “Did you just give him our address?” he asks.

At Harry’s wry nod Louis scoffs.

“We’re going _home?”_ he demands. “Harold, come on. This is your better idea?”

“Patience, babe,” Harry insists, biting his lip to stifle his giggle at Louis’ sceptical look.

Louis, to his credit though, doesn’t actually protest as they’re driven home, just tips his head against Harry’s shoulder and watches the streets whiz past.

Harry pays their fare once they arrive back at the flat before Louis can even begin to fight him on it so he just resolves to get the next one and follows Harry inside.

“Wait out here,” Harry instructs when they reach their front door. “I just need to grab something.”

Louis nods and leans against the opposite wall, watching Harry disappear into their flat. He’s barely counted to thirty by the time Harry comes back with a bottle of wine in one hand and a familiar looking blanket under his arm.

Louis looks up in surprise, meeting the soft expression on Harry’s face. “What are you-“

“Come on,” Harry whispers with a tiny smile, locking their door and starting down the hall towards the stairwell. It’s the one leading to the roof and Louis has a fairly good idea of where they’re going.

They climb the three flights of stairs it takes to get to the top and Harry pushes the door open, shoving a cinderblock against the door to keep it open before stepping out onto roof. Their flat isn’t in the heart of London city but the area they live in is still pretty built-up. As Louis steps out behind him, he can’t help but marvel a little at the way the city is lit up, thousands of lights making his vision blur around the edges.

Their roof isn’t very exciting; it has a tiny greenhouse in one of the corners that the lady in the flat above them uses to grow vegetable but other than that, it’s relatively empty. God, he hasn’t been up here in ages; probably not since they first moved in and went exploring.

Harry lays the blanket out on the concrete and sits down, looking back to Louis while he waits for him to join him. He looks beautiful with his hair blowing in the wind and the bright lights of the city making the air around him sparkle. It makes Louis’ breath catch.

“The ground’s hard,” he points out as he edges hesitantly closer to the blanket.

“So use me as a pillow; _get over here_ ,” Harry laughs and Louis thinks his knees might give out if he doesn’t sit down soon. So he does. He crawls onto the blanket next to Harry and lies down when Harry does – flat on their backs, shoulders, arms and legs brushing.

“Can almost see the stars,” Harry murmurs happily. It takes Louis back to when they were teenagers. Louis’ bedroom window sat right above the lower roof from where their kitchen extended out into the back garden and they got into the habit of sitting out there whenever they wanted to have important conversations.

They haven’t even started talking yet and this already feels like an important conversation.

Harry uncaps the bottle of wine without much flourish and takes a sip, handing it off to Louis when he’s finished. Louis ponders it for a moment as he sits up a bit to take a drink. But ultimately he just shrugs and takes a swig. He’s idly aware it’s probably a bad idea. His buzz that he had earlier from pre-drinking is starting to wane but that doesn’t mean half a bottle of wine won’t go straight to his head.

He thinks he might need a little bit of Dutch courage though.

They pass the bottle back and forth between them without saying much. Most comments are short and murmured around the rim of the bottle. It’s silly things like pointing out made up constellations and Harry trying to find the exact right colour to describe the sky. As they slowly drain the bottle, it’s fair to say they’re drunk. Harry keeps giggling around where he’s biting his knuckle and Louis usually joins him after a second, not even entirely sure what he’s laughing at. They fall silent after a while once Harry sets the empty bottle to the side and resumes staring up at the sky in wonder.

Louis’ mind is frustratingly blank and he wishes he knew what to say, wishes he knew how to break the tension that’s been building between them for weeks. Instead he tentatively stretches out his pinky finger and finds Harry’s, locking them together tightly between them.

Harry doesn’t say anything but when Louis rolls his neck to the side to look at him he sees him grinning up at the sky.

Before Louis has a chance to look away Harry is turning his head to meet his gaze and Louis is stuck. He’s stuck on Harry’s eyes, on his mouth, on his everything. Their eyes search one another’s faces and Louis doesn’t know what Harry finds but all he sees is light. That’s all Harry is – thousands of light particles forged together to create something ethereal.

He wants to kiss him. He always wants to kiss him but right now he _really_ wants to kiss him.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” Harry whispers like he’s reading Louis’ mind, eyes shining and lips quirked up in the softest smile Louis has possibly ever seen in his entire life.

“Was thinking about it,” he whispers back, doesn’t think his voice would support anything louder.

“I think you should wait,” Harry tells him.

Louis licks his lips; their faces are so close their foreheads are just shy of touching. He thinks he could probably count Harry’s eyelashes if he wanted to. “Why?”

Harry’s voice is soft and feather light when he replies, dimples sunk into his cheeks as he looks at Louis. “Because I want to remember every single detail and every single feeling when you kiss me for the first time and I don’t think I would if you did it right now.”

“Not the first time,” Louis reminds uselessly, throat bobbing as he watches Harry’s smile transform until he’s _beaming_.

“No,” he replies, gaze faraway like he’s reliving the memory. “I suppose it isn’t.”

“Harry,” Louis says.

“Mm?”

“I’m gonna kiss you again one day.”

Harry nods, biting his lower lip as he appraises Louis. “I’ll hold you to that.”

*

They don’t talk about it the next day but Louis knows Harry remembers. He can see it in the way his gaze lingers on Louis throughout the day, in the little uptick of his smile every time Louis looks back at him.

He can’t really put the silence all on Harry though because he’s not saying anything either but he just- he’s _scared_. And he knows it’s irrational and stupid because Harry very, clearly wanted to kiss him last night but what if Harry only wanted a kiss while Louis wants _everything?_

It’s a strange feeling because Louis has never been afraid to talk about what he’s feeling with Harry. They’ve always been completely honest and open with each other. He just needs to psych himself up, just needs to convince himself that telling Harry is worth the risk.

He thinks it might be – he hopes it is – but for now, he just needs to wait a little bit longer.

So he bites his tongue, pulls Harry close and pretends he’s not about to choke on all the words threatening to spill out of his mouth.

*

The next couple of days pass normally for the most part.

They have breakfast together – and dinner whenever Harry’s hours allow it – they spend time with the lads, they go shopping and for walks and for ice-cream, they spend lazy nights curled up in front of the tv and when all is said and done at the end of the night they crawl into the same bed and wrap themselves around each other like they’re terrified to let go.

Louis is starting to understand why people always assumed they were dating.

*

Lottie comes to London for the weekend the third week of August to start on some preliminary wedding dress shopping so Louis and Harry decide to meet her at Rosso’s for lunch. Louis practically upends his chair when she comes through the door of the restaurant, immediately bounding over to sweep her into a hug. It’s been far too long since he went home for a visit.

“Missed you, small fry,” he mumbles into her hair as he squeezes her tight.

“Look who’s talking,” she scoffs but she hugs him back just as fiercely so Louis knows she missed him.

“Alright, my turn,” comes from his right and Harry begins jabbing his side insistently to move Louis out of the way.

Louis huffs a laugh but releases Lottie to let Harry wrap her in an enormous bear hug. He’s always treated Louis’ siblings as if they were his own - it makes something swell inside Louis whenever he sees just how much Harry truly cares for his family.

“Let me see the ring!” Harry says suddenly, letting Lottie go to grab her hand instead.

This piques Louis’ interest; he’s seen a picture but nothing is the same as seeing it up close. He steps back into Harry’s space, dropping his chin onto his shoulder and peering at Lottie’s hand over Harry’s shoulder.

When he spots the rock on her finger he whistles lowly, eyes widening slowly. “Damn, Lotts. He really went all out.”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry tells her, squeezing her hand as he does before letting it go.

Lottie rolls her eyes like she’s unaffected but Louis can see her blushing under her makeup - it’s adorable. “Yeah, yeah; we’re in everyone’s way and my legs are exhausted from walking all morning. Let’s sit down.”

“Did you come on your own?” Harry asks as they all settle into their seats.

“Fizzy had work,” she shrugs, gingerly picking up her menu. “And this was the only weekend I had free this month. I wanted to start looking as early as possible, start coming up with ideas, y’know?”

“Well, you could’ve asked us,” Harry says, looking almost dejected that he _wasn’t_ asked. “We would’ve helped.”

Lottie immediately fixes Louis with a pointed look and he laughs uneasily. Shit. “Yeah, Lotts,” he joins in, reclining back in his chair and raising his eyebrows at her, affecting a cool demeanour. “Get the male perspective and that.”

Lottie narrows her eyes at Louis before she seems to realise what he’s done. She scoffs, shaking her head and directing her answer to Harry. “Louis has one week left before he goes back to school. I’m fairly sure he doesn't want to spend one of his precious days off helping me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you, sister dearest,” he says sweetly, fluttering his eyelashes for good measure.

Lottie only arches her eyebrow in response.

Shit, okay. Confession time. “Alright fine,” Louis huffs. “I pretended we were busy. You know how shrill she gets when she’s stressed, Haz,” he adds directly to Harry.

“You were just afraid I’d yell at you,” she snorts.

“Was _not_ -“

“Are we ready to order?” Perrie interrupts, suddenly appearing at their table and eyeing each of them warily, tight smile plastered on her face.

“Maybe give these two a few more minutes,” Harry laughs, handing Perrie his menu. “I’ll have my usual though, thanks, Pez.”

“Got it,” she smirks, offering Louis and Lottie a genial nod. “I’ll be back in a few minutes then.”

“Are we gonna play nice now?” Harry asks once Perrie’s retreated from their table, a sly grin on his face as he meets Louis’ gaze.

He nods in satisfaction once he gets a monotone “Fine” from both Louis and Lottie. “So Lotts, have you set a date yet?”

Lottie nods after she’s taken a sip of her water, setting her glass back down on the table. “Yeah, we’re thinking June next year. We’re just waiting for confirmation from the hotel.”

“Oh that’s so exciting,” Harry gushes before segueing straight into potential colour schemes and Louis finds himself watching him affectionately. He’s so earnest and so ridiculously sweet and Louis is suddenly hit all over again with what a good heart he has. And he knows, in no matter what capacity, he’s so fucking lucky to have Harry in his life.

Lunch after that mainly consists of discussing vague wedding plans and comparing possible options while catching up on whatever they’ve missed in each other’s lives. Perrie comes back to take their orders at some point and their food is delivered not long after but other than that it’s just a lot of laughing and a lot of talking and it feels so much like when they were teenagers and the three of them – along with Gemma – would have their monthly lunch dates.

It’s when Harry goes to the bathroom that Lottie corners him. “So,” she starts ambiguously, eyeing Louis like that’s meant to mean something.

“So?” he replies expectantly.

“You two seem oddly close,” she comments with a suggestive look and Louis just about manages to hold back his groan.

“ _Lottie_ ,” he complains, rolling his eyes. His sister does _not_ need to know that he’s potentially planning on telling his best friend of almost twenty years that he’s in love with him. She’d just freak him out even more by attempting to help. “We have this conversation every couple of months and every couple of months I tell you the same thing. We’re _best mates_.”

“Yeah, best mates that play footsie under the table,” she snorts. At Louis’ deer-in-the-headlights look, she elaborates. “Harry accidentally hooked his foot around my ankle thinking it was yours earlier, nearly had a bloody heart attack when he realised it was me.”

Louis is a bit lost for words at that because, well, they _were_ playing footsie under the table. Oops.

“That was just- look, we-“ he sputters, floundering for some bogus excuse but he’s thankfully saved from having to come up with anything when Harry returns to the table.

She drops it but not without a significant look at Louis. And seriously, people need to stop fucking doing that. Fine, he loves Harry. The whole world knew before he did. He gets it.

They pay the bill shortly after since Lottie needs to get back to dress hunting. Harry informs her they’re coming with her, levelling Louis with a look that just dares him to protest.

Louis considers fighting back just for the fun of it but ultimately sighs and nods his head. “Fine.”

Lottie looks between them and distinctly mutters the word, “ _whipped_ ,” under her breath so Louis stomps on her foot and strides out the door of the restaurant like the mature adult he is. The only reason Lottie doesn’t fight back is because Harry has linked arms with her, smug smile plastered on his face as he says, “We’re helping her, Louis. She’s your _sister_.”

“Please,” Louis scoffs, hovering in place while he waits for Harry and Lottie to catch up with him and then falling into step on Harry’s other side. Harry promptly links his arm through Louis’. “You just want free champagne and to salivate over any designer clothes you can get your hands on.”

“Exactly, so stop ruining my day,” he teases, hip-checking Louis as they walk.

“On second thought,” Lottie interrupts from Harry’s other side, grimacing at them both. “I don’t want you around if you’re gonna act all married all day.”

“You’re literally engaged,” Harry retorts with a laugh, seemingly completely unaffected by Lottie’s little quip. Meanwhile Louis is about to have an existential crisis over whether his heart eyes are too obvious.

“Yeah and you two have been playing house since you were seven; there’s only one gross married couple here and I’m not part of it,” she remarks and Louis is so fucking close to begging the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Fuck, why is he from a family of ridiculously blunt meddlers?

Harry laughs again but he sounds a little bit more uneasy. “Whatever, Lotts. You’re just jealous because yours and Gemma’s friendship isn’t half as perfect as mine and Lou’s.”

“Or half as co-dependent,” she mutters and Louis feels his face instantly heat up. This is why he didn’t want to spend the day with her. She always fucking sells him out.

He changes the subject before it can go on any longer, tugging Harry and subsequently Lottie in the direction of the tube station to go back into the city centre. He spends the rest of the day sitting in fancy chairs and eating tiny teacakes with Harry while Lottie puts on a veritable fashion show for them and takes silly pictures to send Fizzy.

There are worse ways to spend the day.

*

“Hey Lou!” Harry leans over the back of the sofa, ducking down by Louis’ head and giving him a dazzling smile. In other words, he wants something.

“Yes, Harold?” Louis asks amusedly, pausing the tv and turning around to look at him properly.

“I’m going baking, wanna join?”

Louis’ smile immediately drops off his face. “When have I ever been good at baking?”

“Now is as good a time as any to pick it up!” Harry insists enthusiastically. “Please? I’ll teach you and I promise I’ll give you all the easy jobs.”

Louis hesitates a second too long and Harry goes in for the kill. “ _Please_ , Lou,” he needles. “I’ll let you lick the cake batter off the bowl when we’re done.”

Louis is just about to remark that he’d rather lick the cake batter off Harry’s abs before he remembers to stop himself. _You’re still just friends_ , he reprimands himself, _chill the fuck out_.

“Fine,” he acquiesces, rolling his eyes at Harry delightedly clapping his hands but he’s biting the inside of his cheek to stop his smile. Harry jogs around to the front of the sofa and Louis allows himself to be dragged up into a standing position and herded into the kitchen.

“What are we making?” he asks, surveying the various ingredients Harry has already laid out on the countertop.

“I figured we’d start easy and go with cupcakes since you’re so adorably inept,” he quips, hip-checking Louis as he passes his him on his way to the fridge.

“Haha,” Louis retorts sarcastically, taking the apron Harry hands him with a scowl. “Right comedian, you are.”

“I know,” Harry answers wryly, slipping his own apron over his head. “Wash your hands, Lou. You don’t want to pass on your germs.”

“To who?” Myself?” Louis scoffs but obligingly moves to the sink.

“To me.”

“Pretty sure you’re immune to my cooties by now, Harold.”

“Better not risk it,” Harry teases, suddenly much closer than he’d been a moment ago, touching Louis from shoulder to hip as he gently nudges him out of the way to wash his own hands. Louis releases a breath slowly and steps away.

It’s getting harder to be around Harry like this. Getting harder to be in his space without feeling like it’s not enough, like he needs to be closer.

He spends the first few minutes measuring out flour and sugar per Harry’s instructions while Harry busies himself with the mixing bowl and the butter.

“Pass the sugar, Lou,” Harry requests and Louis hands it off, watching Harry tip it into the bowl with the butter and begin creaming the two together. He looks up when he realises Louis is staring at him, offering Louis an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you do the eggs?” he suggests. “Just crack two in that bowl and whisk them together.”

Louis nods uncertainly, picking up one of the eggs and gently tapping it against the bowl until he feels it give. He cracks it, letting out a quiet, triumphant noise when he doesn’t get any shell in the bowl before he does the same with the second. He eyes the whisk warily, gingerly picking it up and looking between it and the bowl. “Harry?”

“Mm?” Harry looks from his own work, eyes landing on Louis and then the whisk in his hand and finally the bowl.

Louis feels a blush rise on his cheeks as he sheepishly asks, “How do you whisk?”

Harry stares at him for a second longer before he huffs a laugh, dropping his spoon into the mixing bowl and moving over to Louis. He comes to stand behind Louis’ back, framing him against the counter.

His right hand covers Louis’ and his voice is right by Louis’ ear and Louis is about to _die_.

“Like this,” he murmurs, lifting his and Louis’ hands to bring the whisk into the bowl and making Louis quickly flick his wrist until the egg yolks begin to come apart and gain some consistency with the whites.

“Oh,” Louis answers and very nearly chokes on the word. This is definitely more than he signed up for.

Harry lets him go when he seems satisfied Louis can do it on his own and Louis does his best to conceal the enormous breath he lets out, keeping his eyes and hands trained on the task at hand instead of letting them wander to Harry.

Harry calls him over after a moment though, getting Louis to intermittently pour in some of the egg mix and sieve the flour over the bowl while he mixes the ingredients together. After that’s done Harry just adds some vanilla essence and a tablespoon of milk, mixing it one last time before they put the cake batter into the little cupcake cases Harry has already lined the tin with. Louis is quite put out to discover it’s much harder than it looks. The weight of the mixture keeps upending the cupcake cases and making a mess of the tin.

Harry is no help, giggling into his hand every time Louis sends another case upside down and mutters another curse word. “Stop dropping them from a height, Lou,” he suggests in between muffled laughs. “Move the spoon closer.”

Louis begrudgingly follows his advice and finds that it actually works. What does Harry know, with his stupid fancy pastry chef degree?

Eventually the tray manages to make it into the oven mostly unscathed and Harry spins around to face him with a manic grin on his face and a piping bag in his hand. “Icing time!” he exclaims, reaching into the cupboard for a clean bowl.

The process is slightly less complicated, Louis is happy to learn, settling for handing over whatever ingredients Harry asks for rather than being an active participant.

It’s getting the icing into the piping bag that proves to be the problem. It’s messy, is the issue, made messier by Louis’ feeble contribution, no doubt.  He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it but Harry is laughing and Louis’ fingers are covered in chocolate buttercream icing and he just...swipes his finger across Harry’s cheek, smearing it with icing.

Harry freezes, turning his head slowly to face Louis with a startled gaze. “You did not just do that,” he says blankly.

“Maybe I did,” Louis responds quietly because _he clearly has no self-preservation instinct._

Harry is still a second longer before he attacks, using the spoon in his hand to fling a dollop of icing at Louis. It devolves into all-out war pretty quickly, with Louis ducking away and grabbing the flour before hurling a fistful at Harry. Harry chases him, mixing bowl still in hand as holds the piping bag menacingly like it’s a bloody dagger.

“Get your arse back here, Louis Tomlinson!” he cackles as Louis runs around the kitchen table to try and thwart him, carelessly throwing flour as he runs.

Their kitchen is small so he doesn’t get very far before Harry catches up him, after discarding the bowl but still holding the mostly full piping bag as a weapon. Harry grabs onto his shirt to haul him back and prevent him from getting away and Louis cries out in protest. They grapple a bit, both of them trying to get the upper hand while destroying their kitchen and themselves.

And then it happens. Harry steps forward and Louis steps back, waist hitting the counter. He grabs Harry’s arm to block him which only pulls him closer and Harry’s other hand flails out to grab the worktop so he can keep his balance. Suddenly there’s an inch of space between them and their mouths are _this_ close and Louis stops breathing.

They freeze at the same time, Harry’s eyes widening for a moment before they seem to zero in on Louis’ lips. He’s so close Louis can almost taste him. He wants to; he’s so fucking sick of waiting. His throat bobs and Harry absently licks his own lips and he’s gonna do it. He’s gonna lean in but then-

_Beep._

The oven timer goes off and they both jump, startling apart as they do. They stand, staring at each other for an agonising, tense silence before Louis clears his throat and Harry sets down the icing bag, turning his back on Louis to pad over to the oven. Louis sags back against the counter and closes his eyes.

Fuck.

*

It’s the last Friday of August and the day before Liam’s birthday.

He and Louis have to go back to work on Monday and Louis has spent the last week having a war within himself about whether or not he should talk to Harry. He knows he has to, it’s driving him insane not to and he knows Harry is starting to notice. But he just- he wants the moment to feel right.

Anyway, it’s not his priority tonight because they actually _did_ throw Liam a surprise party, complete with his favourite flavour birthday cake courtesy of Harry.

Louis is just finishing fluffing up his hair when Harry knocks on his open bedroom door. “Nearly ready, babe? Niall just text and said most people are there now. Zayn’s bringing Li back soon.”

One last look in the mirror and Louis spins on his heel to face Harry, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He’s not really; he feels nervous and jittery and he thinks if Harry touches him right now he might get an electric shock from the sheer amount of tension crackling between them but it’s fine.

“You look handsome,” Harry comments lightly, hip-checking Louis as they make their way out of the flat.

Louis starts, hoping his intake of breath isn’t too noticeable when he looks up at Harry. “So do you.” He really does. Skinny jeans, loud patterned shirt and perfectly ruffled curls, Louis is quite certain he isn’t actually real.

“Wanna walk?” he suggests when they reach their complex’s carpark.

Harry grins over at him and nods as they begin to make their way down the street. They’re quiet as they walk but it’s not their usual quiet; it’s palpable and Louis thinks he might choke on the tension if he doesn’t speak soon.

“Do you think Liam will be surprised?” he asks benignly, keeping his eyes forward because the thought of looking directly at Harry seems a bit too much right now.

“Of course he will,” Harry replies. “It’s Liam; he never expects stuff like this.”

“Too bloody good for this world,” Louis shakes his head amusedly.

“As always,” Harry sighs dramatically before he laughs and Louis can feel him watching him. “You okay, Lou?” he asks after a moment, voice suddenly cautious.

Louis forces himself to meet the other boy’s gaze and offers him the most genuine smile he can muster. “Yeah. Just cold.”

He knows it’s a mistake the moment he says it because Harry’s arm is instantly around his shoulder, pulling him into his warmth. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Louis chokes out, pretending like every nerve-ending in his body doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode from Harry’s touch. At least the shiver it sends down his spine will make his lie more believable.

It doesn’t take much longer to get to Liam and Niall’s flat, thank god, and Louis gratefully slips out from under Harry’s arm under the guise of helping Niall finish setting up. Not that there’s anything even left to _do_ but still.

Minutes after they arrive Niall gets a text from Zayn saying he’s bringing Liam up which sends everyone scrambling into terrible hiding places that do nothing to actually conceal them since it’s still bright out but it’s the thought that counts.

Which proves true enough when Liam comes through the door and his adorable, awed puppy dog look overtakes his face the moment they yell “surprise”.

After hugs and “Happy Birthday”s and presents are exchanged and the party is in full swing Louis manages to slip outside to the balcony. It’s blessedly empty when he slides the patio door shut behind him. He braces his hands on the railing in front of him and finally manages to take a breath. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him tonight; it’s just- being around Harry right now is too much.

He thought he could sit on his feelings, maybe push them to the side until he was sure Harry felt the same way but the truth is, he’ll probably never know for definite if Harry feels the same. He’s just going to have to take a leap of faith and trust Harry to catch him.

It sounds a lot more fucking scary than it should.

He doesn’t get much time to himself before he hears the sliding door open. He doesn’t turn around to check who it is. He knows it’s one of four people and he’d be willing to bet everything that it’s the one that’s causing him all this stress in the first place.

A moment later, Harry is leaning against the railing and regarding him with a contemplative look.

Louis doesn’t speak or turn to meet his gaze; his knuckles are white where he’s gripping the railing, he notices absently.

“Talk to me, Lou,” Harry whispers after an indeterminable amount of time has passed.

He casts Harry a sidelong glance, sees the sincerity in his eyes, and looks away again. “About what?”

“About why you’ve been weird all week. About why you look like you’re going to pass out every time you look at me.” Harry has a terrible pokerface and Louis can hear the little quaver in his voice as he finishes his sentence, the hurt he won’t admit to.

“Do you remember the night on the roof?” he asks, eyes trained on the beginnings of the sunset in the distance.

He hears Harry’s intake of breath but he doesn’t look; he _can’t_.

“Yes,” Harry reveals quietly. “Is that what this is about?”

“Maybe,” he admits.

“Louis, look at me.”

He turns his head begrudgingly and sees Harry staring at him with wide, earnest eyes. “ _Tell me_ ,” he pleads, voice just above a whisper.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice quivering and on the verge of collapsing.

Harry’s eyes are flitting all over his face, searching for something. Whatever he finds, it makes his throat bob when he nods. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

The breath rushes out of him. His eyes close of their own volition and he feels like he might shake apart at any moment. Harry wanted to kiss him. Harry _actually_ wanted to kiss him.

He feels sick.

How is he supposed to- how can he even _put into words_ \- _what does he say?_

“Louis,” Harry says, biting his lip nervously.

Louis nods, can’t think of a better response right now. His mind is _reeling,_ he needs to- he has to say it right.

Harry seems to take his silence for something else, however, and his face drops. “Oh,” he says, an awkward uncertainty to his tone. “You didn’t- I thought- never mind.”

Louis shakes his head confusedly, reaching out to touch but Harry flinches back. “What- Harry, no I-“

“It’s fine,” Harry cuts him off abruptly. “You don’t need to explain. I’m just- I’m gonna go inside.”

“Harry, let me talk-“

“Don’t, Lou,” Harry dismisses him and Louis watches in horror as he hastily wipes a stray tear off his cheek. Before he can say anything else Harry is darting back through the door and disappearing inside.

Louis stares after him, dumbfounded.

What the fuck just- did Harry just admit he has _feelings_ for him?!

It takes him longer than it should to realise what just happened. Harry told him how he felt and he thought Louis didn’t feel the same way. He thinks Louis doesn’t love him back.

Louis has to tell him he loves him back.

He blusters back into the flat, pushing through the crowds of people as he searches for Harry. He tries Niall and Liam’s rooms first, knowing Harry always prefers to be alone when he’s upset but they’re both empty. In the quiet of Liam’s bedroom he tries calling him but it goes straight to voicemail. He must have his phone off. He looks through the kitchen again before trying the living room.

Where the fuck did he _go_? It’s only been ten minutes, how could he just disappear like that?

He’s circling the living room again, keeping his eyes peeled for any glimpse of curly hair he can possibly find but he comes up empty. He does spot Niall though. He races up to him with no regard for whatever conversation he’s currently part of and blurts out, “Have you seen Harry?”

Niall pauses mid-sentence to stare at him before excusing himself from the group of people he’d been talking to. “What’s wrong?” he asks as he pulls Louis away to a more secluded corner.

“I need to find Harry,” he answers, eyes restlessly shifting around the room. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Lou, I haven’t seen him in a while,” Niall replies apologetically. “What happened?”

He huffs, blinking back a few traitorous tears that have gathered at the corners of his eyes. “We had a moment and then he misunderstood what I was trying to say and I need to talk to him. _I need to tell him, Niall_.”

Niall’s eyes widen at the implication. “Like _tell him_ , tell him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis insists. “Do you have any idea who he could be with?”

“Last person I saw him with was you, Tommo,” Niall tells him, biting his lip as he thinks. “Did you try calling him?”

“No answer,” Louis mutters dejectedly.

“He’s gone home.”

Louis whips around to find Zayn standing behind him, sympathetic expression on his face. “He seemed pretty upset when I ran into him.”

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Louis groans, burying his hands in his hair and closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath. “Are you _sure_ he’s at home?” he implores, opening his eyes again to meet Zayn’s gaze.

“It’s where he said he was going,” Zayn assures him. “Lou, _go_.”

“Right,” he nods, inhaling another shaking breath before Niall’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. “Right. Okay. I’m going.”

“Don’t come back until you’re in love!” Niall calls after him as he hurries out of the room. Louis can’t even be bothered to turn back around while he gives him the finger. He has more important things on his mind.

One look at the traffic when he reaches the footpath has him deciding to run home. It’s not ideal but if he got in a cab right now he’d be sitting in it for at least twenty minutes longer than necessary and he needs to talk to Harry _now._

So he runs.

Even when he gets a cramp in his side and his lungs are burning, screaming at him to stop, he doesn’t. He keeps going because he’s waited too fucking long to tell Harry the truth and for better or worse, he’s going to tell him how he feels tonight.

He doesn’t wait for the elevator when he reaches their building, just races up the three flights of stairs and hopes he doesn’t brain himself by tripping.

The door to their flat is mercifully unlocked when he tries it – he doesn’t even know if he brought his keys with him tonight and he can’t imagine Harry opening the door to him right now. He bursts through the door with less grace than he’d like but he doesn’t worry about that now.

Harry walks out of the kitchen at the noise of the door banging closed and immediately freezes where he’s stood. His eyes are red rimmed like he’s been crying and his mouth is parted like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what.

There’s a single moment, the moment between the inhale and the exhale, where they stand still and stare at each other.

But then Louis takes a breath and starts forward, striding purposefully towards Harry and closing the distance between them. Harry seems frozen in place but Louis sees it, the moment that he gets it, that he finally understands.

It’s the last thing he sees before he cups Harry’s jaw and crushes their lips together.

Harry responds immediately, mouth moving against Louis’ as he clutches Louis’ jacket. It’s desperate, Louis can feel it, the way both of them keep pushing closer as if there’s any space left between them in the first place, the insistence of Harry’s mouth against his own, how tightly they’re holding on.

He pulls away when his lungs begin to burn because he needs to tell him, he needs to know. Harry’s lips chase his own as their foreheads rolls together and Louis blurts it out.

“I love you,” he breathes and Harry suddenly stops trying to claim his mouth again. Louis opens his eyes and Harry opens his and they’re too close, Louis can’t look at him properly but he tries.

“I’m _in love_ with you,” he clarifies, thumb tracing over Harry’s cheek as he waits for his reaction.

“I-“ Harry starts, hands clenching where he still has Louis’ jacket bunched up in them. “Since _when?”_ he gasps in disbelief.

“Always?” Louis laughs because it’s ridiculous but it’s _true_ , he realises now. “Six weeks ago? Seven years ago? I don’t know, H. But I love you, I do.”

Harry appears to be stunned to silence, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with an answer. But then his hands are sliding around Louis’ waist and he’s brushing their noses together and he’s whispering an emotional, “I love you too,” into the space between their mouths before closing the gap altogether.

He kisses him. And then time stops.

It’s six and eight and scraped knees and sticky fingers. It’s nine and eleven and clumsy lyrics and out of tune piano notes. It’s fifteen and seventeen and nervous confessions and hands held tight. It’s sixteen and eighteen and soft lips and tear-tracked cheeks. It’s eighteen and twenty and a flat with a heating that doesn’t work.

It’s twenty-three and twenty-five finally getting it right.

Louis slides an arm around Harry’s neck, reeling him in closer while his other hand curls in his hair to hold him in place. Harry’s hands are roaming all over his back and he keeps making these soft little noise into Louis’ mouth and Louis is in _heaven_. This is more than he could’ve imagined - the pounding of his heart, the plush give of Harry’s lips when he bites down, it’s fucking everything.

“Should we,” Harry gasps as he detaches their lips but it doesn’t last long when Louis is immediately following the trail of his mouth. “Should we talk?” he gets out eventually, not actually giving Louis a chance to answer since he goes right back to kissing him.

“Mm later,” Louis mumbles into his mouth, taking a step forward and urging Harry back.

“Later works,” Harry replies airily, stumbling blindly backwards as Louis follows. Louis just laughs into Harry’s mouth and pulls away, forcibly turning him around so he can see where he’s going. He settles for attaching himself to Harry’s back and kissing along the side of his neck as they trip their way towards Louis’ room.

“You know you doing that isn’t conducive to me walking with more coordination,” Harry says conversationally, or well he tries to, his voice sounds about twelve octaves deeper and his throat catches towards the end of his sentence. Louis just smiles against his neck and keeps them moving forward.

“Just a few more steps, love,” he murmurs, guiding Harry to his bedroom door.

As soon as they’re through the threshold Harry turns in his arms and reattaches their mouths, fingers sliding into Louis’ hair as they move deeper into the room. Louis’ hands slip under Harry’s shirt and he can’t help but jolt a little when he first touches him. He lets his hands skim over Harry’s waist, flitting over the soft skin of his hips before sliding them up his back.

Harry shivers in his arms and Louis can feel his own lips quirking up at the reaction. That smug feeling doesn’t last very long when Harry retaliates by pushing Louis’ jacket off his shoulders and makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt. Louis slides his hands out from under Harry’s shirt to help shrug them off, dropping them carelessly on the floor only for Harry to huff out a teasing laugh and mutter, “So messy,” as he starts kissing Louis’ jaw.

Louis scoffs, reluctantly pulling away from Harry’s tempting mouth to regard him with a look. “Haz, do you want me to clean or do you want me to take off your shirt?”

Harry stills and Louis can actually _see_ the moment his pupils dilate, fuck. He leans forward until their noses are brushing but he doesn’t close the distance, no, instead his mischievous eyes catch Louis’ and he smiles, their mouths painfully close, before whispering, “I think I want you to take off my shirt.” He surges forward then, capturing Louis’ lips in a heated kiss and all Louis can do is kiss back, hands pulling insistently at Harry’s shirt.

Harry lets go of him long enough to raise his arms and toss the shirt off but as soon as it’s out of the way he’s back on Louis again, manoeuvring them towards the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sits down.

Louis climbs into his lap immediately, straddling his hips and diving in for another kiss. He cups Harry’s jaw, uses his hold to keep him in place and guide him in whatever direction he wants; Harry’s whimpering against his mouth, hands clenching Louis’ hips so hard he’s probably going to leave bruises. The thought sends a thrill up Louis’ spine and he deepens the kiss, gently pressing against Harry until he gets the hint and lies back.

It takes a bit of shuffling but soon Harry is lying with his head resting on the pillows, Louis lying comfortably in the space between his hips. They slow down a bit then, some of the urgency bleeding out of Louis as he gets lost in the feel of Harry’s lips against his own. He’s kissing Harry - he’s finally fucking kissing him – he needs a moment to take it in, to learn how Harry loves to be kissed. What makes him sigh, what makes him chase Louis’ mouth for more, what makes him moan. He wants to know it all.

Still, he can’t ignore the hardness in his jeans or the way Harry is shifting restlessly underneath him. He pulls away with a slow lingering drag and the way Harry’s eyes flutter out of focus before finding Louis’ again makes him smirk. His lips feel swollen and tingly and if they look half as bad as Harry’s right now, he must look fucking obscene.

Harry’s chest is heaving as he stares trustingly up at Louis and Louis knows he has to make this special. It may not be either of their first times but it’s still probably going to be the most overwhelming moment of their lives.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, leaning in for one more kiss to Harry’s mouth before travelling down his body.

He kisses Harry’s neck, his collarbones, his chest, his tummy, anywhere he can reach, committing the feel of Harry’s skin under his mouth to memory. It leaves Harry quivering beneath him, breathy sighs of, “ _Lou_ ,” exhaling out of him with every kiss until Louis reaches his jeans.

He pops the button easily, pausing a minute to flick his gaze back up to Harry. He’s watching him, teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he rakes a hand through his hair and Louis gets the most overwhelming sense of déjà vu to Harry’s eighteenth birthday when they were in a very similar position. Unlike that time Louis actually gives into what he’s craving to do and presses a lingering kiss to Harry’s lower stomach before working him out of his jeans.

Harry helps as best he can, lifting his hips off the bed while Louis peels his jeans down his legs. He pulls them off along with Harry’s boots and socks and suddenly his got an almost-naked Harry on his bed and his brain short-circuits a little.

He’s breath-taking, with the flush on his cheekbones and his hair spilling out against the pillow, his abs contracting as he tries not squirm and the very noticeable bulge in his tight briefs, he’s better than anything Louis could’ve ever imagined.

He rids himself of his own trousers and shoes quickly, crawling back onto the bed and draping himself over Harry’s body. They both jump at the skin to skin contact, at the heat that sears their chests together and Louis has to kiss him again. It’s been thirty seconds; that’s too long.

“Never wanna stop kissing you,” he says, the words lost to Harry’s lips.

Harry pulls away for a moment, stilling Louis with a hand on his jaw. “Then don’t,” he murmurs, guiding Louis back down to meet his mouth again.

His stomach flutters at the thought. Kissing Harry for the rest of his life, it doesn’t sound half-bad.

Their hands roam over one another’s bodies and Louis can’t help the slow swivel of his hips as he grinds down against Harry. Harry arches to meet him, mouth slackening with the pressure the friction creates. Continuing in his ministrations, Louis stretches an arm out, fumbling with the drawer in his nightstand until his hand makes contact with his bottle of lube. He drops it on the mattress beside them, hand darting back into the drawer to grab a condom before he returns his full attention to Harry.

He disconnects their lips in favour of pressing their foreheads together instead. Feeling Harry’s hot breath fan out over his face is heady and overwhelming and he takes a moment to collect himself. “What do you want, love?” he asks gently, brushing his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip

Harry is quiet a moment, hips still absently moving against Louis’ as he thinks. He takes a breath, flicking his eyes up to meet Louis’ even though the closeness makes it hard to focus, and he simply whispers, “You.”

Louis’ breath hitches and he moves.

He can’t explain it other than to say time seems to speed up and slow down at the same time.

It’s a blur – sliding Harry’s briefs off tantalising slowly and listening to the soft noise he makes in the back of his throat, drawing his leg up and pressing tender kisses to the inside of his thigh until Harry is quivering, mouthing at his cock and working him open carefully with one, two, three fingers that leaves Harry breathless.

When he finally pushes in his vision whites out and he needs a moment to get over the overwhelming heat, to get over the overwhelming emotions swirling around inside him. He keeps his forehead pressed to Harry’s as he takes a moment to get used to the sensation, the room silent except for their laboured breathing. Blindly, he reaches a hand out and laces it with Harry’s, feeling his legs shake when Harry responds by squeezing his fingers and mumbling out a slurred, “Love you.”

He whispers his own, “Love you too,” into Harry’s jaw and then he finally begins to move. It’s unlike anything else he’s ever experienced; his chest feels cracked open and his heart is beating so loudly he’s sure Harry can hear it. There are sparks under his fingertips, little jolts of pleasure everywhere Harry’s touching him. He thinks if he didn’t have Harry holding onto him, anchoring him, that he might fly apart.

It’s never felt like this before.

Louis’ had sex with his fair share of people and he’s always generally enjoyed it, even been enthusiastic about it, but this? This is more than he’s ever experienced. It reminds him a little of the first time they kissed. The way it had felt so different to the way he’d kissed people before. The way his heart beat faster and his palms felt sweaty and there was a feeling pounding inside him, making his throat feel tight and insistently pushing at the inside of his stomach, telling him _this is important_.

It’s like that but only even more heightened. Every nerve-ending firing inside his body right now is telling him this is the only thing that matters, being with Harry is the only thing that matters, it’s everything.

His thrusts become less calculated, more erratic, as they both tumble towards the edge. Harry’s making noises right by his ear, reaching out to kiss Louis whenever he can muster up the energy to do it. He’s getting close, Louis can tell, so he redoubles his efforts and works on hitting the spot inside Harry that makes his body go taut and his hands grapple at Louis’ back. He brings a hand down to circle Harry’s cock, searing their lips together as he does and he knows it’s too much for Harry, too many duelling sensations at once. His mouth goes slack against Louis’, a moan escaping him that Louis swallows down hungrily and he comes.

It doesn’t take Louis long to follow after him, he buries his face in Harry’s neck, presses their bodies close together so there’s hardly an inch of space between them and chases his release. It’s Harry curling a hand in his hair and murmuring, “Come on, Lou,” that ultimately pushes him over the edge.

The tension drains out of his body and he collapses on top of Harry, feeling the breath rush out of him as he seeks out Harry’s hand again. Harry obligingly links their fingers and kisses his hair. It’s a minute or so before he remembers to pull out, wincing slightly at the sensation and picking his head up to meet Harry’s gaze.

His eyes are heavy-lidded like they’re about to droop shut at any minute but his smile is soft and sated. Louis finds himself grinning back and leaning down to connect their lips. “Rock, paper, scissors who needs to go to the bathroom to clean us up?” he suggests half-heartedly, mouth tugging up in a smile when Harry laughs.

“Well I can’t go anywhere until you get off me so really it should be you,” Harry tells him, using his bright eyes and adorable dimple to weaken Louis’ defences and that’s just not fair.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh and reluctantly peels himself off Harry to stumble out to the bathroom. He discards the condom, wiping himself down and rinsing another cloth under the warm water to bring back to Harry.

He’s still in the same place where Louis left him, sprawled across the mess of Louis’ sheets, dozing lightly as Louis pads back to the bed. He cleans Harry up – who doesn’t so much as stir from the action - before dropping the cloth on his bedside table. He climbs in then, draping himself over Harry and tangling their limbs together. Harry accommodates him, arms slipping easily around Louis.

He uses Harry’s chest as a pillow, fingers tapping out a rhythm in time with Harry’s heartbeat on his bare skin. And it’s the most settled Louis’ felt in weeks; Harry’s chest is rising and falling steadily beneath his ear and his fingers are trailing down Louis’ back and the sun is slowly beginning to set outside the window and Louis just feels completely, utterly _happy_.

“I kinda feel bad for leaving Liam’s party early,” Harry murmurs faintly and Louis laughs, muffling the sound against Harry’s chest.

“’m sure us finally getting our act together will be gift enough to him,” he replies amusedly. “D’you know he told me he thought we were lying back in uni when we would tell him we weren’t together?”

Harry chuckles, free hand catching Louis’ own. “Suppose he saw it before we did.”

“I think that’s true for most people who know us,” Louis points out, making Harry burst into a fit of giggles that only causes Louis’ heart to swell inside his chest.

He tips Louis’ chin up with his finger so they can meet each other’s gaze and Louis finds himself overwhelmed at the look of total adoration on Harry’s face. “We were pretty stupid for a long time, weren’t we?”

Louis shrugs, mouth curling up in a grin. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah, we probably would’ve saved ourselves and everyone else a lot of grief if we’d figured it out earlier,” he concedes. “But I wouldn’t trade our friendship or the experiences we had together for the world, H.”

Harry’s smiling affectionately at him by the time he’s finished speaking, thumb tracing patterns on Louis’ arm. “Me either,” he answers quietly, pulling Louis down for a chaste kiss.

They spend a lot of the night talking – talking about how long they’ve had feelings for each other and how long they’ve known, when their friendship began to turn into something more, about the embarrassing realisation that they’ve basically been dating for years just without the physical side of it, about what they want from a relationship with one another.  (Answer: everything).

They doze here and there in between too many kisses and maybe more than kisses – the lube is _right there_ and Harry is also _right there,_ Louis is just a man, what’s he supposed to do?

By the time the sun is filtering back in through the window sometime after five a.m. Louis has come to the conclusion that he’s never felt more sure of anything in his life than he has of Harry. Their positions have altered some; they’re both lying on their sides now, facing each other. Their legs are tangled under the mess of blankets and they’re both sharing the one pillow, noses brushing every so often as Harry plays with their joined hands between them. And as Louis looks at him, he knows this moment right here, this is the most in love he’s ever been.

The words are out before he can stop himself, before he even realises what he’s saying. “I’m gonna marry you one day,” he mumbles and Harry stills, gaze leaving their hands to meet Louis’ with a surprised expression.

But then his face is slipping into something lighter, something private and tender as he pulls their linked fingers closer to his own chest. He holds Louis’ gaze steady in his own and his dimples sink into his cheeks and he quips, “I dare you.”

Louis barks out a laugh, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Harry Styles, did you just _dare_ me to marry you?”

Harry doesn’t laugh though, he grins but he doesn’t laugh. In fact, he looks completely sincere as he says, “Yeah, I did.”

Louis’ suddenly not laughing anymore because it’s really fucking starting to sound like Harry just proposed to him. “Are you being serious?”

Harry nods silently, watching and waiting for his reaction.

“Harry, we can’t, that’s- we just got together,“ he objects automatically because that’s what he _should_ say but he finds himself not really believing it even as he’s speaking.

“Lou, you said it yourself,” Harry cuts in. “We’ve basically been in a relationship this whole time without even realising it. We’ve been a part of each other’s lives for twenty years, and loved each other just as long in no matter what sense of the word you want to use. I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

“But we-“ he protests feebly. “That’s so reckless, Haz.”

“You just said you wanted to marry me,” Harry points out, lips involuntarily quirking up when he says the word “marry”.

“And I _do_ ,” Louis rushes to assure him because fuck, it was always gonna be Harry, wasn’t it? Deep down he’s always known. “But like- what if we don’t work out?”

“Then we get a divorce,” he responds blithely, rolling his eyes. “But Lou, that thought is as farfetched in my mind as the thought of growing old with anyone _but_ you. We’ve lived together for five years; we know everything there is to know about each other. We trust each other with our lives. People always spend the relationship part getting ready for marriage, for the extra commitment to make sure you’re compatible and can stand to be around each other twenty-four-seven but we’ve already done all that. We _know_ , Lou.”

Louis is stunned because everything Harry is saying _makes sense_ and this is quite possibly the stupidest thing they have ever contemplated doing together but the thought of it…It makes Louis scared but it’s the good kind of scared, the excited kind. Fuck, he could call Harry his _husband._ He really wants to be able to call Harry his husband.

“Do you want to marry me?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis looks at him, really looks at him, for any sign of uncertainty or doubt but he can’t find any. So he nods, squeezes Harry’s hands where they’re still held in his own and says, “Yes.”

Harry’s face breaks out into a hundred watt smile and he leans forward to kiss Louis. “Good,” he mumbles, “I wanna marry you too.”

Louis laughs, the sound muffled by Harry’s mouth, and he just feels so- he feels on top of the fucking world and he can’t believe any of this is real. He slips his hands out of Harry’s, sliding one around the back of Harry’s neck to pull him in and kiss him properly and he’s just- he’s ready.

They’re it for each other. He knows it.

He pulls away after a moment, meeting Harry’s starry-eyed gaze and saying the most surreal sentence he’s probably ever uttered in his entire life. “Let’s go get married.”

*

They shower together which really only slows them down rather than speeding things up. He keeps getting distracted by pushing Harry against the wall to kiss him a little – a lot – and by the slick slide of their hands over one another’s bodies.

Eventually though, they do get their hair washed and all the sweat and come scrubbed off their bodies, tumbling out of the shower with flushed faces and bright smiles.

They get ready in their own rooms and Louis is actually glad for the space, relieved to have a second to think outside the haze of Harry to make sure they’re doing the right thing but by the time he’s dressed and his hair is dry he only feels more certain than he had before.

He wants this. He probably always has.

Harry cooks them breakfast, singing along to the radio while Louis sits on the counter and taste tests. And he can’t get over how not different this feels. It could be any other morning except now he can lean in and kiss Harry if he feels like it. It’s the same as it was before but it’s also _better_.

They eat with their ankles linked under the table, trying to hold a casual conversation and failing miserably when they both keep breaking down into giggles every time they make eye contact.

It’s 8:30 when they’re piling into Louis’ car with all the paperwork and IDs the website said they need and making the short drive to Barnet’s Registry Office. They have a brief moment while they sit in the carpark to get their bearings and Louis has to make sure one more time. “Are you _sure?”_ he asks Harry, levelling him with a serious look.

“Of you? Always,” Harry responds quietly, brushing their mouths together and pulling back with a smile. Louis returns it, feeling jittery as he spots the time on the clock.

Butterflies erupt in his tummy as they make their way inside when the doors open at nine.

The woman at the desk eyes them dubiously when Harry blurts out, “We’re here to get married!” but Louis can see her holding back a smile. She goes through the forms they need to fill out and directs them to a waiting area, telling them it’ll be a while until they can be seen since there’s another ceremony taking place before them and they never made an appointment.

Louis nods, smiling politely – feeling a little bit like a chastised child at the lack of appointment comment - while Harry thanks her profusely and then they make their way to the waiting area.

They spend a few minutes in silence, reading through the forms and filling out the necessary information. They find each other’s gaze when they’re done and Louis feels the same giddiness that’s been sitting in his chest all morning bubble to the surface again. They make eye contact and he can’t help but let out a laugh, Harry joining him as he shakes his head.

“Are we really doing this?” Harry asks quietly, grin impossibly wide.

“I think we are,” Louis whispers back in disbelief, quickly leaning in to peck Harry’s mouth before they go back to the front desk to submit their paperwork.

After that it’s just a lot of waiting around for the registrar to be finished with the other ceremony. They sit in the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting area, Louis’ head on Harry’s shoulder, and he can feel the exhaustion creeping up on him a little bit. Lack of sleep and the emotional upheaval that the last twelve hours have been is finally taking its toll, it seems.

He’s resting his eyes while they wait, only opening them again when he feels Harry’s shoulder shift under him. Noticing Harry on his phone, he forces himself to open his eyes properly. “What are you doing?” he mumbles sleepily.

“Looking up flights for our honeymoon,” Harry says and _that_ wakes Louis up. He picks his head up off Harry’s shoulder and sits up straight, regarding him with an incredulous look.

“Spain or France?” Harry asks, not seeming to notice Louis’ reaction, eyes still on his phone.

“Haz, I go back to work on Monday,” he protests confusedly. God, he could do with a few days in Spain though. “You have the restaurant.”

Harry finally looks at him, lips quirking as he shrugs his shoulders. “We can call in sick. Come on, Lou, pleeease.”

Louis’ already weakened resolve completely dissolves when faced with Harry’s pouty face – pure evil, he is. He sighs, pulling Harry into his side - who moves with him happily. “Let’s go to Spain,” he murmurs against Harry’s temple. “You always wanted to go to Barcelona.”

*

It’s about an hour later before they’re called and the almost calm bubble they’d slipped into immediately bursts.

Suddenly everything is happening in fast-forward.

They’re ushered into another room, two witnesses from the Registry Office are standing at the end of the room with the registrar and Louis feels like his heart is beating in time with his footsteps as he walks down the centre aisle with Harry’s hand in his.

And he knows it should feel impersonal, knows it should feel rushed and ridiculous but as soon as he looks at Harry he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t _care_ because this beautiful, enchanting boy loves him back and he finally gets to say it out loud. They stand there, hands intertwined as they try to hold back their nervous giggles and half-listen to the registrar, and Louis knows. He knows Harry’s eyes are the only ones he wants to look into for the rest of his life. He knows Harry’s hands are the only ones he ever wants to hold.

Yeah, it’s rushed and stupid but it’s also been a long time coming. So he doesn’t feel scared when they’re asked if they have vows they’d like to recite because well- he’s been telling Harry he loves him for twenty years, he’s gotten pretty good at it by now.

“Harry,” he murmurs, voices laced with affection, and he feels his expression soften at the way Harry’s grin becomes brighter. “I’m- I just really love you,” he blurts and Harry barks out a laugh, eyes suddenly shining when he meets Louis’ gaze.

“I do,” Louis chuckles softly. “I always have. I literally can’t remember a point in my life where I _didn’t_ love you. You’re my constant. For as long as I can remember, it’s always been me and you against the world. And as far as I’m concerned, husbands is just the natural step up from partners in crime.”

Harry laughs again, the sound distinctively thick like it’s caught in his throat.

“This is absolutely insane but lord knows, I’d follow you to the end of the earth, no questions asked. So, I suppose what I really want to say to you right now – what I want to promise you – is that I’m gonna love your forever, okay? No matter what. Even if you don’t let me. Because loving you is as easy as breathing and it’s the only thing I’ve always been good at.” He pauses, his throat starting to feel a bit scratchy with tears as he offers Harry a watery smile. “So my heart’s yours, if you want it.”

Harry’s breath hitches and he’s clutching Louis’ hands so tightly he’s cutting off the circulation but Louis doesn’t mind. He _can’t_ , not with the way Harry’s fervently nodding his head like assuring Louis is the most important thing in the world.

The registrar gestures for Harry to speak and he blows out a shaky breath, making Louis’ mouth tug up in a small smile.

“Louis,” he says quietly, wearing the same look of wide-eyed wonder he’s worn since he was four. “I don’t really know if I believe in soulmates or love at first sight or any of that…but I believe in you. I believe in _us_. I always have. And I think if soulmates did exist, you’d be mine.”

Harry takes a second to collect himself then and Louis swallows hard, eyes burning with the threat of tears. “You’re just- you’re my favourite person and there hasn’t been a single day since we met where I haven’t loved you with all my heart. And I don’t intend for there to be. So, I want to promise you the same thing you promised me. I’ll love you for as long as forever lasts and I promise to never let you forget it. But most of all, I promise to make sure every day feels like today.”

Louis has tears streaming down his face but he pays them no mind, just mouths a quick, “ _Love you_ ,” that Harry has just enough time to return before the registrar starts speaking again.

Everything that happens after that blurs together. They don’t have rings so they only have to answer the registrar’s questions with, “I do,” sign the papers and seal it with a kiss. (Louis has lost count of how many times they’ve kissed in the past twelve hours but he’s certain he’ll never get sick of it.)

And that’s it; they’re married.

Holy fuck, they’re _married_.

_He married Harry._

(He has a vague memory of himself at eight at some family gathering where his relatives had officially decided he was old enough to tease him about girls and his own response being an unaffected shrug while he announced, “I’m gonna marry Harry ‘cause it rhymes.”)

They stumble out to the car hand in hand, elated, disbelieving grins on their faces, and Louis can’t even make it inside the car before he has to kiss Harry again. He presses him up against the door, locking their lips together and it’s really more of a meeting of teeth than anything because they’re both smiling too much but it’s perfect.

It’s a few more minutes before they’re finally settled in their seats again and their gazes meet over the console.

“Alright then, husband,” Louis says, feeling his grin deepen at the word. “Take me on my honeymoon.”

*

It isn’t until they’re sitting in the airport hours later, waiting for their flight to be called, that Louis remembers his neglected phone. “Should we like, call someone?”

Harry sits up from where he’d been resting his head on Louis’ shoulder and regards him with a contemplative look that turns sheepish almost immediately. “I’ve had my phone on silent since this morning,” he admits. “And I haven’t checked my messages yet.”

Louis hasn’t either, too caught up in the whirlwind of the last sixteen hours. Slipping it out of his pocket, he finds a string of text messages and missed calls from the lads adorning his screen. “Do you wanna tell them everything?” he asks, looking from Harry to his phone again.

Harry is silent a moment as he thinks, absently jiggling his foot and turning his own phone over in his hands. “How about…we text them to let them know where we are and promise to explain everything later?”

“You know it won’t be that simple; they’re not gonna leave us alone,” Louis reasons.

“Well, let’s turn off our phones then,” Harry shrugs. “Not like we’ll need them when we’ll be with each other the whole time.”

The words send a thrill down Louis’ spine - six whole days with nothing but Harry and the sun for company, if he closes his eyes he can almost see the clear blue skies already. “Okay,” he agrees, opting to open their group chat rather than texting each of them back individually.

 _“Gone away with H for a few days,”_ he types. _“Everything’s fine !! Will explain when we get back.”_

Niall, predictably, is the first person to text back with a string of incoherent emojis that Louis thinks means he’s happy for them.

Liam comes in next with a, _“Have fun!”_ and a very unsubtle row of winky face emojis.

Zayn simply replies with a, “ _Happy for you, see you soon xx_.”

Harry texts them back every heart emoji he can find before locking his phone and grinning at Louis. “That was easy!” he announces happily.

“Just wait ‘til we get home,” Louis snorts. “Niall’s definitely gonna interrogate us.”

“At least we’ve got six days to get our story straight,” Harry laughs, slouching down in his chair again and resuming his earlier position with his head on Louis’ shoulder.

It’s only a few minutes longer before they’re being called to board and Louis stands up, pulling Harry with him before slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. Harry grabs his own bag and hauls it onto his shoulder, allowing Louis to tug him in the direction of the line forming at the gate desk.

It’s a tedious forty-five minutes of waiting in line, flashing their passports and scanning their boarding passes before slowly shuffling along with the rest of the last-minute holiday-ers until they reach the landing strip. Louis is almost thankful to be sitting in the uncomfortable, cramped Ryanair chair at the end of it.

Harry has the window seat and he’s idly looking out the small opening as they begin to take off. Louis is shifting, trying in vain to get comfortable – he hates the middle seat, he’s definitely making Harry switch when they turn the seatbelt sign off. The person in the aisle seat seems to be travelling alone and thankfully doesn’t take up much room, keeping herself to herself and not hogging the arm rest like Louis had feared. He’d rather not start his honeymoon off with a fight with his row-mate.

It’s a few more minutes of restlessly squirming in his seat before Harry rolls his head against the head rest to look at him. “What’s the first thing you wanna do in Barcelona?” he asks, reaching out for Louis’ hand and running soothing circles over his skin.

That one little touch shouldn’t make Louis melt but it does. He sinks back into his chair and leans closer to Harry, a smile playing on his lips. “’m gonna get you a wedding ring,” he tells him.

Harry’s mouth curves up softly and he laces their fingers together. “I like that idea,” he whispers, drawing their linked hands up to his mouth and kissing Louis’ knuckles. And fuck, it’s only been a matter of hours but he can’t believe how seamless this feels? How easily they slipped into these roles of boyfriends – _husbands_ – like it had always been this way. It’s simultaneously the most settling and unsettling feeling in the world.

As soon as the fasten seatbelt light goes off Harry unclips Louis’, lifts the armrest between them and pulls Louis into his arms. Louis lets out a sigh, sinking into Harry’s warmth and tucking his feet up on the chair underneath him. They spend most of the flight like that, catching up on some much needed sleep. Louis doesn’t stir until the woman on his right is gently shaking him awake to say they’re landing soon and that he should probably put back on his seatbelt.

He thanks her tiredly, sitting up straight and popping his back as he stretches – Harry is comfy but the position is still awkward when they’re in such a cramped up space. Harry wakes when Louis moves out of his arms, eyes fluttering as they search for Louis confusedly.

“We’re about to land, love,” he murmurs, leaning back in to kiss Harry’s sleep-lax mouth.

Harry only hums, eyes drifting shut again as he settles a hand on Louis’ thigh; he doesn’t wake again until the plane jolts as it hits the ground beneath them. Louis kisses his shoulder when he jumps, whispering that they’re here and nodding for Harry to look out the window. All they can see is cloudless blue sky and when the pilot announces over the intercom that it’s a sunny twenty-nine degrees Louis almost cries at the thought.

The taxi drive to their hotel takes about half an hour and Louis spends the majority of it looking out the open window and relishing in the warm breeze with Harry’s hand clasped in his, resting on his thigh. The hotel they’d picked when they’d done a quick google search upon returning to the flat this morning was nice, central and a short walk to the beach and the strip but also equipped with its own pool, bar and restaurant if they didn’t feel like exploring - which they probably wouldn’t today. It’s just after five by the time they arrive and between the last minute travelling, the poor excuse for a nap on the plane and the lack of sleep last night, Louis wants nothing more than to crash.

They dump their bags in a corner of the room once they’ve checked in and made their way to their suite and Louis immediately face-plants into the queen-size bed, burying his face in one of the fluffy white pillows.

Harry makes a vague noise of disapproval somewhere behind him. “You messed up the towel swans,” he chastises.

Louis cranes his neck just enough to see Harry lifting one of the towels – that had evidently been folded into a swan – off the bed and setting it on the nearby chair. “I’m sure the towel swan will forgive me,” he mutters, dropping his head back onto the pillow and closing his eyes.

He can hear Harry moving around the end of the bed and a moment later Harry’s hands are on his ankles, slipping Louis’ vans off his feet. After Harry seems to have kicked his own shoes off as well Louis feels a dip in the bed as Harry settles beside him.

Louis cracks an eye open and meets Harry’s gaze, watching the slow smile that spreads across his face.

“We’re married,” Harry says quietly, voice tinged with awe, and really, it’s the first time all day that they’ve gotten a chance to take it all in. They fucking got married this morning. And now they’re on their _honeymoon_.

If you’d have told Louis any of this yesterday morning he would’ve laughed in your face but now he’s in Barcelona and he’s with Harry and he just feels so unbelievably, completely _happy_.

“We’re married,” he agrees, lips involuntarily curling up in a grin that he hides in the pillow beneath his cheek.

Harry moves closer, draping an arm over Louis’ back to pull him closer. “How does a power nap and a late dinner sound, husband?”

Louis smirks, burrowing into Harry’s inviting warmth and already feeling sleep beginning to pull at his limbs. “Sounds like a plan, love.”

“Noo, Lou, you’re supposed to call me husband too,” Harry complains - the whiny kind of complaining he uses when he’s close to sleep.

Louis snorts, leaning closer to brush a kiss over Harry’s jaw. “Sorry, husband,” he whispers obligingly.

“S’okay,” Harry mumbles. “Y’r forgiven.”

Louis hums and has enough presence of mind to grab the throw blanket at the end of the bed to pull over them. With that, he sleeps.

*

They wake up just before 8pm, taking turns in the shower and changing out of their sweaty travel clothes into something more evening appropriate. The sun’s still out and the breeze is still warm when they step out of the hotel so they decide to find somewhere along the strip for dinner.

They walk hand in hand along the beach front, idly stopping at a restaurant here and there to read the menu before eventually settling on a little bistro, tucked away in the corner of the square at the end of the strip, away from the crowds of tourists swarming to the larger restaurants.

They sit outside under a large canopy protecting their table and idly sip at their sangria while they wait for their food. Dinner is spent making idle conversation and observing the hustle and bustle around them, watching parents trying to wrangle kids into staying still in their chairs, watching waiters weave effortlessly between tables with trays of food, watching couples –young and old – stroll along the beach hand in hand. It feels like a different life, feels like it’s been months since Liam’s birthday even though it was only last night. Louis feels more relaxed than he has all year and he thinks he could probably stay here forever as long as Harry was sitting on the other side of the table.

It takes Harry a few minutes to realise Louis is watching him instead of eating his food but he eventually looks up, his eyebrows quirking adorably in confusion. “What?”

Louis shakes his head, feeling a smile creep onto his features again. “Just happy,” he shrugs.

That pulls Harry up short and he starts a moment before setting down his fork, reaching across the table to grab Louis’ hand. Louis turns his hand over, allowing their fingers to fold together, and feels his heart beat a little harder when Harry traces the back of his hand with his thumb. “’m always happiest when I’m with you.” Harry murmurs it like a confession and Louis pulls their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of Harry’s hand.

They don’t speak much for another few minutes, just continue with their meal, but Louis can feel the lightness surrounding them, the little bubble of fulfilment and contentment nestled around their table.

He never wants it to end.

*

They wander around a few of the souvenir shops while they try to walk off their dinner – though most of them are beginning to close by the time they leave the restaurant – before eventually choosing to spend the rest of the night in one of the many pubs dotted around the square. They maybe have one too many cocktails given the dinner they’d just had was basically the first substantial meal they’d eaten all day but it’s their honeymoon - they’re allowed to get drunk if they want to. They opt to sit outside again, snagging a small table with two wicker chairs covered with worn cushions.

They talk about this and that, commenting on the goings on around them and what they plan to do for the next few days. Harry takes out his camera at some point – since their phones are still off – and starts snapping pictures of the square and their drinks and Louis until Louis eventually protests and moves into Harry’s lap, slinging an arm around Harry’s neck so they can take a picture together. One picture turns into ten – most of which, Louis thinks, are Harry kissing and giggling into his neck but he certainly isn’t complaining.

He returns to his own chair eventually because they’re in public and he will not be held responsible for what he does if he stays in Harry’s lap any longer. Harry smirks at him like he knows.

Harry’s lips are even more red than usual from the daiquiri he’s been drinking and he’s got a little umbrella tucked behind his ear and his eyes are sparkling and Louis can’t believe he gets to call him his.

He scoots his chair closer to Harry’s, catching the front of his half-unbuttoned, billowy white shirt to reel him in for a kiss because he _can_. Harry’s lips taste like strawberries and his fingers are cold from the condensation on the glass where they slip around Louis’ wrist and he starts smiling the moment Louis pulls back, gently bopping their foreheads together before releasing Louis’ wrist.

“What was that for?” he asks, grinning as Louis props his legs in Harry’s lap.

Louis smiles impishly, affecting a carefree shrug as Harry wraps a hand around his ankle. “Just ‘cause.”

Harry leans back in, kissing the tip of Louis’ nose before mouthing at his cheek. “I like kissing you just ‘cause,” he says quietly, mouth brushing over Louis’ once more before he finally pulls back.

Louis raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of his cocktail in an attempt to stifle the giddy feeling in his chest. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much but he doesn’t know how to stop – he doesn’t really want to, honestly.

They put away a few more rounds before exhaustion eventually catches up with them and they decide to head back to the hotel.

They walk along the beach, hands swinging loosely between them and shoes held in their free hands. It’s deserted now save for the odd couple that passes them by. Most people are still gathered in the cluster of pubs and restaurants but the noise slowly fades to the background as they move further away.

It isn’t until their hotel is coming into sight and the noise of the strip is long gone that Harry stops them. Louis pauses, looking up at him with a curious gaze, and he can’t see too well in the dark but he thinks Harry might be blushing.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Harry shrugs, idly drawing his toes through the sand beneath his feet. “We haven’t had our first dance yet.”

Louis stops short, realising what Harry’s getting at. Nothing about this has been traditional but Louis knows Harry’s always wanted the big conventional wedding – even if this whole thing was his idea in the first place. Making a decision, he drops his shoes on sand before taking Harry’s from his hand and setting them down beside his own.

He steps back then, extending a hand to Harry with a flourish. “Harry Styles,” he says, clearing his throat for dramatic affect. Harry rolls his eyes but he’s beaming. “Would you please have this dance with me?”

Harry makes him sweat for a second, pretending to decide, before he slips his hand in Louis’ and allows himself to be pulled close. His dimples are denting his cheeks and Louis can tell how pleased he looks as he settles his free hand around Louis’ neck.

“There’s no music,” Harry points out when Louis starts swaying them.

“Harold, I love you but I refuse to say, “Then let’s make our own music,” I can’t do it and I _won’t_.”

Harry barks out a laugh, tripping over his own feet and sending him straight into Louis’ chest. He doesn’t bother trying to right himself, just hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder and presses closer. “I’ll sing,” he murmurs, voice too low and too close to Louis’ neck and making him shudder.

Louis nods, pressing a kiss to Harry’s hair and lining up their temples when Harry stands a little straighter.

“ _To you, I’ll give the world_ ,” Harry sings under his breath, voice just loud enough to carry a tune. “ _To you, I’ll never be cold_.”

Louis closes his eyes and can already feel a whirlwind of emotions welling up inside him. It’s _their song_. It’s the song Louis heard for the first time when he was over at Harry’s house, listening to an old record Harry’s dad had left behind because it had been the only thing to get Harry to sleep when he was a baby.

Harry was six when he’d taken Louis’ hand and told him he wanted to show him something special. They’d sat cross-legged in front of each other in the spare room after Harry had turned on the record player and Louis can still remember the dreamy look on Harry’s face as the opening notes filtered into the room, can still remember hearing this song and looking at this boy and thinking it was the most mesmerising experience in the entire world.  He was only eight years old but he’s never listened to that song the same since.

It’s the first song he’d tried to learn on the piano – badly, he might add – and the song he sang into Harry’s hair to help him fall asleep the night he was crying and holding Louis’ hand tightly and whispering, “ _I like boys, Lou_.”

It’s everything he’s always wanted to say and never known how to say to Harry.

“ _And the songbirds keeps singing’ like they know the score,_

_And I love you, I love you, I love you,_

_Like never before…”_

Harry’s voice is right by his ear, soft and smooth, and Louis wants to carve this moment out of time and keep it forever. He wants to remember everything. The sand under his feet, the breeze rustling their hair, the faint rush of the waves crawling towards them. Harry’s hand in his and Harry’s chest against his own and Harry’s voice in his ear and _Harry_.

He kisses Harry before he can finish the song, swallowing the words down and pouring them right back into Harry with everything he has. Harry clutches his back and Louis winds his finger in Harry’s curls, losing himself in the overwhelming sensation of Harry’s lips moving with his own.

They separate eventually, with whispered “I love you”s breathed out against flushed skin, and Louis takes Harry’s hand in his again, resuming their earlier position. He lays his head on Harry’s chest and prompts them to start swaying again; Harry picks up the tune again without missing a beat, murmuring the lyrics into Louis’ hair.

Louis closes his eyes and lets himself get lost to it all, revelling in Harry’s touch as he hears the same two lines repeat over and over in his head.

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_Like never before._

*

Their first full day in Barcelona is breakfast in bed with a side of kisses. It’s white sheets and skin on skin and lots of laughter and shared showers. It’s sitting on the balcony with a bedsheet around their waists, watching the sunset. It’s champagne flavoured kisses that neither of them can really afford but they don’t care. It’s learning every inch of one another’s bodies that they missed the first time around and then learning it again. And again. And again.

Their second full day in Barcelona is exploring. It’s flitting in and out of kiosks and souvenir shops and Louis stopping in front of a display case while Harry is distracted by some sunglasses. It’s taking Harry’s hand and sitting him down on the low-hanging wall separating the strip from the beach and sliding a Barcelona coin bracelet onto his wrist.

It’s Harry turning his wrist this way and that with an admiring smile before looking up at Louis with a questioning glint in his eyes.

It’s, “Your placeholder until I find you a ring.”

It’s a promise.

Their third full day in Barcelona is sunbathing and underwater kisses in the sea and massaging sunscreen into each other’s backs and racing their ice-creams to finish them before they start melting down their hands. It’s cocktails with sparklers almost as bright as Harry’s smile and picking the weirdest food they can find on their menus because why not? It’s Louis kissing Harry’s sunburnt nose and Harry running his hands all over Louis’ tanned torso.

Their fourth full day is sightseeing and the aquarium and Louis pointing at the most colourful, bizarre fish he can find and saying, “That’s you,” when he gets Harry’s attention. It’s the zoo and Harry pointing at a meerkat and defiantly saying, “That’s you,” in retaliation. It’s buying tacky, overpriced baseball caps and t-shirts as souvenirs for the lads. It’s waffles and chocolate sauce –that they lick off each other’s fingers when they think no one is looking – for dinner and taking turns sleeping on each other for the train ride back to their hotel.

Their fifth full day they find their rings. It’s an accident really. They’d been doing a bit of shopping when Harry had dragged him into some antique shop tucked away in the corner of the square. They’re wandering through the aisles, looking at the various trinkets and knick knacks adorning the shelves when Harry lets out a quiet gasp beside him.

Louis pauses, looking up to study Harry’s face before following his line of sight to the shelf in front of him. Sitting in an open box is two rings; they’re both gold, inlaid with little crystals that are hardly noticeable unless you’re looking up close. Their designs are slightly different but it’s still obvious they belong together. Louis loves them.

“I want them,” Harry whispers, delicately picking up the ring with the tiny blue crystals embedded amongst silver stones. He holds it reverently, slipping it on to the tip of his finger but not pushing it all the way to the knuckle just in case it doesn’t come off again.

Louis checks the price tag and feels his bank account cry a little but he pushes the thought down. He knows they’re never going to find anything like this in a jewellery shop. He regards the other ring for a moment; it’s slightly plainer in appearance but no less intricately beautiful. He imagines wearing it for the rest of his life – he _wants_ to.

Carefully, he takes the ring from Harry’s hand and sets it back in the box, closing the lid for safekeeping. “Let’s get them, Haz,” he says, lifting up on his toes to kiss Harry’s cheek and making for the checkout.

Harry follows with wide eyes and a hushed, _“Are you sure?”_

Louis stops and spins in a circle to face Harry again, hand curving around Harry’s jaw and thumb sweeping over his cheek. “They’re the rings,” he says simply.

Harry’s eyes are shining and he turns his face to kiss Louis’ palm when he says, “Yeah. They are.”

And that’s the end of that. They pay and the cashier is gracious enough to direct them to a jewellers that’ll resize the rings for them for a good price and when they go to bed that night it’s with rings on their fingers and smiles on their faces and a promise they never intend to break.

*

The trip has to end at some point and on Friday they’re forced to re-enter the real world on their plane ride home. They spend it mostly in silence, content to play with each other’s hands while Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry rests his head on top of Louis’. Louis has lost count of the amount of times he’s played with Harry’s ring finger since Thursday, turning his hand to watch the band glint in the sunlight. He’d be embarrassed if Harry wasn’t just as bad as him.

Harry offers him a rueful smile when they touch down in a rainy London, sliding his arm around Louis’ shoulder and kissing the top of his head as they make their way out of the airport.

It’s not until they’re in a taxi back to their flat and they finally remember to turn back on their phones that they figure they should probably call the lads. They’ve left them with radio silence for a week; the last time any of them had seen Harry he’d been crying and the last time they’d seen Louis he’d been racing out the door after him. They should probably give them an explanation.

So they text the group chat, telling them they’re almost home and that they can call over in an hour. When they get three texts in the affirmative Louis locks his phone again and watches the familiar London streets pass them by.

They get just under an hour to themselves when they arrive back at the flat – enough time to open the windows and spray some air freshener to get rid of the stuffy feeling in the flat. Harry dumps their dirty clothes in the wash basket while Louis takes their now empty suitcases and stuffs them in the closet by the front door. They change out of their travel clothes into clean joggers and are just sitting down with their cups of tea to wait for the boys when the door bangs open.

Craning their necks to look over the back of the sofa reveals Zayn, Liam and Niall tripping over themselves trying to get through the doorway. They all stand frozen when they meet Harry and Louis’ gazes, though their eyes seem to be specifically stuck on where Louis’ arm is around Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, are you going to come in?” Louis asks slowly, watching in fascination as they all suddenly jump to attention and push through the threshold. Liam closes the door behind them and they converge in the living room. Zayn opts for the armchair while Liam perches on the armrest next to him. Niall, looking like he’s just walked into an interrogation room, decides to settle on the edge of the coffee table in front of Harry and Louis, propping his elbows up on his knees and steepling his fingers together.

Louis meets Harry’s sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye and tries to hide his smirk. And they say _Louis_ is dramatic.

They sit in tense silence for a moment before Niall can’t seem to take it anymore and regards them both with a look. _“Well?!”_ he demands expectantly.

Harry barks out a laugh before muffling it in Louis’ shoulder. Louis grins, absently running the backs of his fingers over Harry’s arm – he can see Zayn watching them closely out of the corner of his eye.

“I told H I love him,” he confesses eventually, lips turning up involuntarily.

No one speaks for a moment until Liam softly prompts them with, “And what did Harry say?”

Rather than looking at any of the boys, Harry turns to Louis, meeting his eyes with an adoring expression on his face. “I told him I loved him back, obviously,” he says, leaning in to brush their mouths together. It’s not a proper kiss – they’re too busy smiling into each other’s mouths for it to be – but Niall still cheers in triumph, punching the air with his fist while Zayn and Liam trade pleased grins.

Louis maintains eye contact with Harry when they pull back, silently asking if he’s ready to tell them the rest. When Harry nods they both turn to face the room at large.

“That’s not all,” he says, cutting the congratulations that had been on the tip of Liam’s tongue short.

The boys all stop trying to talk over each other, pausing to frown in confusion.

Niall, predictably, sees first. “What d’you mean that’s not-“ He stops, eyes zeroing in on where Harry’s left hand is raised to link with Louis’ around his shoulder. Louis can tell the exact moment he spots the rings. “When did you get those rings?”

“Are those engagement rings?” Liam asks before being immediately cut off by Zayn’s louder, “Are those _wedding rings?!”_

“Surprise?” Harry offers half-heartedly.

The room descends into chaos instantly. There are three people yelling at them and none of them are coherent enough to actually be understandable. Niall is standing up now, gesturing wildly with his hands while Liam has taken up residence on Harry’s other side on the sofa, clutching Harry’s hand for closer inspection, eyes darting back and forth between their rings like he’s watching a tennis match. Louis thinks he hears the word “reckless” somewhere in the middle of Zayn’s tirade from the armchair.

“Are you _insane?”_ Zayn asks incredulously.

“When did this happen?” comes Liam’s slightly more patient question.

“How the fuck could you get married without us?!” Niall demands, looking quite possibly the angriest Louis has ever seen him.

“So maybe we eloped-“ Harry starts before the yelling sets off again. He throws Louis a helpless look but Louis feels just as lost as he is.

“Listen!” he cuts in and the three of them blessedly shut their mouths for five seconds. “We just-“

He looks at Harry, who smiles at him, taking Louis’ hand in his now that his arm has slipped from round Harry’s shoulder. “We didn’t want to wait anymore, okay?” Harry takes over gently. “We spent _so long_ not being together that we just- we didn’t want to miss out on everything anymore.”

The boys all seem to be processing this, frowning in indignation, concern and resignation respectively.

In the end it takes twenty-four hours for them to calm down enough and get over their outrage at not being invited along to actually _talk_ to Louis and Harry. But the next day they arrive on Harry and Louis’ doorstep, offering fierce hugs and telling them how happy they are for them before ushering them back to the living room and demanding to hear all the details.

Louis leans against Harry and tries to ignore the pain in his cheeks from smiling so much as they regal Niall, Liam and Zayn with their impromptu wedding ceremony and days spent in Barcelona. Harry digs out his camera to show them pictures and Louis goes rifling through their stuff to find the shitty souvenirs from the zoo they bought them and by the time they reach the end of their story Niall is a bit teary-eyed while Liam is wearing his crinkly-eyed smile and Zayn is watching them like a proud parent. Seeing the acceptance and happiness on their faces finally causes relief to flood through Louis.

They finish the night off with beer and take-away, catching up with everything they’ve missed during their week away. And everything’s the same as it was before they left except Louis is sitting between Harry’s legs and Harry keeps dropping little kisses in Louis’ hair and over his cheeks and their rings clack together every time their hands overlap and Louis knows when they go to sleep tonight they’ll be staying in the same bed. And it won’t be temporary or something they don’t talk about. It’s gonna be something they do for the rest of their lives.

They eventually shepherd the boys out of the flat sometime past 2am and Harry instantly latches onto Louis’ back, burying his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. “Take me to bed,” he commands sleepily, yawning into Louis’ neck.

“Sexiest proposition I’ve ever gotten, hands down,” he snorts, reaching up to hold onto Harry’s wrists where they’re crossed over his chest as he slowly begins walking them towards Louis’ – _their_ – bedroom.

(They decided Louis’ room would make the better bedroom since it’s the one they’ve been spending most of their time in anyway and a lot of Harry’s stuff has already migrated there during the past couple of weeks.)

(They swapped Louis’ mattress out for Harry’s though. Can’t have Harry hurting his back, can they?)

“So that went better than expected,” Louis says conversationally, tugging Harry towards the bed once they’re through the threshold.

“Only took them a day to cool down,” Harry snorts, crawling into his side of the mattress and immediately rolling onto his opposite side so Louis can curl around his back.

“Now all we have to do is tell our parents,” Louis replies, kissing Harry’s jaw and sliding his arms around Harry’s middle before dragging the covers up around them.

Harry hums, folding his arms over Louis’ and huffing a quiet laugh.

“Pfft, how hard could it be?”

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> .........Weeeeeeeell Harold, we'll see about that ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'd love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> If you're looking for me on tumblr, you can find me at [ allyasavedtheday](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/) and the tumblr post for this fic is [here](http://allyasavedtheday.tumblr.com/post/143905763927/long-before-we-both-thought-the-same-thing%22)
> 
> (also ok disclaimer i realised after i'd written both of these fics that they obviously go home for christmas before Lottie's wedding but i genuinely forgot and was not about to rearrange the entire timeline 60k later so i really have no answer for how their families didn't discover they weren't at least in a relationship by that point lmao sry)


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